


Dragons Don't Know Paradise

by tainara_black



Series: Dragons Don't Know Paradise [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Condoms, Depression, Draco needs a hug, Drarry, Early Bird 25 Days of Harry and Draco 2020, Falling In Love, Family feelings, Fingering, Grieving, Group Therapy, HIV+ Remus, HIV+ and Aids, Harry is a Cinnamon Roll, I am generally heavy handed with the hurt bit, Identity Reveal, M/M, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexting, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin Raise Harry Potter, Sirius and Remus are good dads, Suicidal Thoughts, bookshop au, but there is a sad wank, but this is a advent kinda fic so I am trying to embrace the comfort bit, he has many secrets, online sex, queer community, there is no heartbreaking blowjob, they meet online, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 50,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27818707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tainara_black/pseuds/tainara_black
Summary: In 2004, when Remus spends two scary weeks in the ITU due to complications of pneumonia and his HIV condition, Sirius walks around the house like a ghost and Harry finds comfort and strength in Draco through a chat in an online LGBT forum. Harry falls for him, but Draco has a lot of secrets and, before long, will need to come clean—even if he believes that no one is able to understand a dragon.This is a story about falling in love online and about facing the reality of death, but above all, this is a story about hope, finding love and acceptance.  (Non-magical / bookshop AU, written for the 25 days of Drarry 2020)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Dragons Don't Know Paradise [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076942
Comments: 360
Kudos: 253
Collections: 25 Days of Draco and Harry 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: We are going to delve into very sensitive topics as HIV, depression, mentions of suicidal ideation, homophobic slurs and family rejection. But I can promise a happy ending. I am not HIV+, so I may not write as accurately as someone who is. I tried to do as much background research as possible and I’m trying to be as respectful as I can. 
> 
> Author’s Note: This fanfic is set in the Muggle world. I have thought about this story for about 4 years now, I was never able to write it. This Advent, I am giving myself the chance to share this story with you all. I hope you enjoy it. Buckle up, folks! Heavy hurt/comfort rollercoaster to come!
> 
> The title of this fic was taken and translated from the short story “Os Dragões Não Conhecem o Paraíso” by Caio Fernando Abreu, and the quotes used at the beginning of some of the chapters were taken from the same story.
> 
> I have no words to thank [OllieMaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieMaye/pseuds/OllieMaye) enough for helping me with beta work. She jumped on board in a blink of an eye, and she is a miracle worker and life saver. Thank you very much, darling,-- specially for the Sirius fangirl moments <3 And also J, who has been listening to my crazy ideas and reading my stories for 16 years now.
> 
> I will be posting one chapter per day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: biscuits

* * *

_“They are lonely beings, dragons.” C.F.A._

* * *

His flat is in complete darkness. He thinks that maybe it’s just a perfect mirror of how he feels in his heart. Actually, that’s a lie. There is a bit of an orangey light coming in from the street lamps. It makes his room look like a scene in a film. Yes, maybe his life is just like a film. 

He wishes it was all a film. He could press play, pause, stop. Turn off the dvd and start it back up the next day, or next month, or next year. After a bit of time off to let this abhorrent feeling of complete uselessness go away. 

There’s a tin of biscuits on the small table by his bed, but he doesn’t feel hungry. He feels like he could smoke a cigarette, but he doesn’t want to face the rain outside and he really doesn't want to make the fire alarm go off like last week. It was such a bother...

Pansy brings the biscuits at noon, which is ridiculous because she is a terrible baker and she knows it. But she’s been checking in on him constantly, making sure he is fine, that he is eating, taking his meds, sleeping. But he doesn’t know when he is going to feel fine again. He feels like maybe he is already dead, only he hasn’t physically disappeared yet. 

He moves around the room at a lethargic pace and waits and waits for sleep to pull him in. No luck though. So he pulls a notebook from a drawer and starts writing bits and pieces of broken sentences. He can’t even write properly lately. 

He feels like death warmed over. 

The computer pings; a chat bubble appears on the screen.

 **Harry:** _hey, are you there?_

But he doesn’t feel like messaging back right now. He’s in the middle of a thought, and the thought feels impossibly large, like being on the verge of something else, something beautiful, something huge. Maybe he will get to write it down... 

It pings again.

 **Harry:** _I’ve been thinking about you. I think of you before bed every night now. Is this stupid? Do you also think of me?_

He rolls his eyes, feeling miserable. Of course he thinks of Harry. But during the day, when there’s sunlight outside. Because this is what Harry feels like, warm and cosy and bright, like daylight. 

He writes it down.

 _You feel like daylight over my skin. Your light scares the darkness away from the empty spaces inside my chest.  
_ _I feel how, step by step, you sink your fingers in the softest parts of my stomach, creating roots.  
I want you to stay, but I don’t know how... _

Ping.

 **Harry:** _I’m thinking of you right now..._ _I wish we could see each other..._

He reads it and smiles, turning off the computer without replying. 

He feels warm and loved. He knows it’s not real, but it fills him with such hope. He can’t see Harry. He can’t face him. Harry deserves nice things, sunny, warm things. And Draco has no idea how to offer him that.

He scribbles it in the notebook; then he puts down pen and paper, lets out a shaky breath and lies down, closing his eyes. Allows his mind to quiet down. 

And with Harry in his mind and the bittersweet feeling of warmth and guilt jammed under his ribcage, Draco falls asleep.

The streetlight shines orangey light over the notebook pages, lying open over the end of the bed. The black ink looks otherworldly, almost magical, the words almost begging for a miracle to happen. 

It reads:

_I wish I could write you a poem, but I wouldn’t have enough soft words to reach you._   
_Maybe I could just write you something real for once. Maybe I should tell you my truth._   
_Or maybe we should stop talking. Because I lied. Oh, I lied so much._   
_You will never forgive me, Harry._

_I am not who you think I am._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Encouragements are very welcome!  
> you can also find me as [teacup-tai on tumblr!](https://teacup-tai.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we will be switching POVs from now on.  
> all my love to Sirius Black. alive alive oh.
> 
> prompt: a hot drink

* * *

_“After all: I didn't see him. See, dragons are invisible.” C.F.A._

* * *

“Harry?”

Sirius' voice floods the kitchen and Harry looks up, his fingers holding a big cuppa, feeling the warmth on his palm and the pleasant aroma of Assam—a smell so typical of that house, that kitchen, the home where he was raised. There is something very welcoming about the pale yellow walls and light coloured wooden furniture and the not-so-organised organisation of the kitchen.

Sirius is standing by the door, his arms crossed lazily over his chest, wearing striped pyjama pants and a faded Queen T-shirt, his tousled hair falling over his shoulder, grey strands blending into the thick, smooth black mass.

“Is everything okay, pup?” he asks with a concerned and caring air, his grey eyes hidden by the darkness of the corridor, the light from the counter never quite illuminating his face.

“Yeah...” Harry murmurs, not wanting to worry Sirius or talk too much and let the strange sensation in his voice show.

Sirius pulls away from the entryway and walks over to the wooden table in the centre of the kitchen, where Harry was sitting, nursing his tea. He ends up turning towards the counter by the sink to make tea. Harry smiles when he sees his godfather's bare feet, thinking that regardless of the season, Sirius is always barefoot inside the house.

Sirius turns on the electric kettle to boil more water.

“I find it amazing that you think you can lie to me,” Sirius speaks softly, looking out the window, his hands resting on the edge of the counter and his shoulders relaxed. “You never managed to do it quite well enough, Harry.”

Harry laughs weakly at that.

“I try...”

“What’s going on?” he asks without turning.

“It’s nothing, really...”

“Is it about the internet guy?”

“Yes...”

Sirius turns and gazes at his godson with a calm expression.

“What’s going on, Harry?” he presses.

“I asked him if he would like to meet the other day, but he said he can’t again. We've been talking for almost a month, so... I don't know, Sirius, he's obviously not as interested as I am.”

“Maybe he is ugly.”

“Shut up,” Harry snorts and shakes his head. “He is not, we sent pictures to one another... He’s quite dashing, actually.”

“So you’re upset because you thought it was going to work out, but it’s not going as planned?”

“Yeah... I think I was starting to fall for him.”

Sirius prepares his cup of tea, pulls out a chair and sits down at the table in front of Harry.

“I still find this generation very strange. How do you fall in love with someone you don't even know?”

“We talk a lot. He helped me deal with my feelings while Moony was in the hospital. He told me about his life, I told him about mine... I don't know, we even talk before bed sometimes,” he shrugged.

Sirius laughs, taking a sip of tea, and pouring more milk into the mug.

“Do you send pictures, then?” he asks, raising a perfect eyebrow, drawing a naughty expression and Harry throws the dishcloth in his face.

“Don’t be nosy,” he mutters, turning the mug in his hands. “Yes... just a few...” Harry rubs his hands over his flushed face. “He is... Mysterious, attentive... I thought it could work.”

“And you sent pictures of yourself to a complete stranger?” Sirius takes a deep breath. “I think this is very dangerous, imagine if he sends your pictures around to his friends? I was never a very responsible young man, Harry, you know that. But you are 24, you should be more careful, son.”

Harry groans softly, face buried in his hands.

“I know, but I like him! I wanted it to work.”

“Harry...” Sirius' voice sounds deeper and Harry looks up. Sirius reaches over the tabletop, taking his godson's fingers in hand. “I haven't seen you like this in a while. I know that this past month has been very difficult, with Remus in hospital and you coming back home. I was terrified of him not recovering this time around, too.”

They share a moment of silence, just looking at each other. They’ve been through so much over the years. And in the pregnant silence of the kitchen, it feels real. The fear of the last few weeks, the reality of Moony in the ITU—the fear of losing him for good this time. 

“But it's okay now,” Sirius reassures him with a gentle squeeze of their hands. “I don't want you to put yourself at risk, I love you too much to let someone play with your feelings.”

“I know, Pads...” There’s a sad smile on Harry’s lips. “Thank God everything went well...” he sighs, squeezing his godfather's fingers tightly.

“You know how much it means to us that you are here, right? I know that, at some point, you will want to go back to your flat, but you can stay here as long as you want. Moony feels more at ease having you around...”

Harry nods, feeling his eyes sting a little.

This past month has been insane. 

Remus has been hospitalised for two weeks due to pneumonia. Sirius had been sleepless for days on end, pacing in the living room until dawn so he could go back to the hospital. Harry had decided to return to his godparents’ house to help Sirius control his anxiety and keep everything in order for when Remus returned.

It had been years since Remus had looked that bad. His health has always been controlled, taking his meds and following a balanced diet, doing exercises, keeping exams up to date. 

But it shook them to the core. The almost-there feeling of loss, of death looming over them like a dark, heavy cloud. And Harry felt so lost, so out of balance, so upset.

Harry found comfort in a website that supports family and friends of people with HIV and AIDS. It was in one of these online forums that he ran into Draco in the LGBT chat group. From one message to the next, they were telling about their lives and exchanging experiences, talking through the chat every single day.

It was the only thing that kept him sane, while Sirius paced around the house, desperate and anxious, like a living ghost, haunted. It had been one of the most difficult periods of his life.

But now Remus was back home and Sirius had returned to work. Things were slowly getting back on track. Harry just wanted something good to come out of the whole ordeal, and Draco seemed to be the best thing about it.

“Why don't you try to get some sleep, Harry, you look awful.”

Harry rolls his eyes. 

“How thoughtful of you, Pa’.”

Sirius snorts and smiles at him.

Sirius had always been the cheerful one, the first to crack a joke in a tense situation, the first to look on the bright side. Seeing him so low this past few weeks made Harry realise they are all very vulnerable. Existence is fragile and no one is ever ready to manage such drastic life changes. 

His godfather is only human, just like him. And it makes Harry understand so much of his godparents' past now, so much of the always-present pain in the back of Remus’ eyes...

“I love you, Pads,” he says in a hurry. He needs the words out there in the open, while Sirius is still here to listen.

Sirius must understand, must realise—because having death’s breath on the nape of their necks made them all realise how fleeting life can be. 

He feels his godfather's eyes on him, and the words tumble out of his mouth. “I don't know what I would do—”

“Shh, it's okay now, Harry,” Sirius shushes him.

The dark circles under Sirius' eyes are also purplish, but his light grey eyes were so alive ... Harry smiles, basking in the feeling and the fact of how alive those eyes are and lets go of his godfather's hand to wipe the corner of his own eyes.

He sighs, feeling suddenly exhausted. Gets up, places the mug in the sink, and goes back to the table, bending down to hug Sirius from behind, wrapping his shoulders in his arms, burying his face in his godfather's hair and feeling the man’s hands hold tight to his forearms.

He smells like a father, like security, like home. Just like Remus’ smell, the same smell of the whole house.

“You know we love you very much, don't you, Prongslet?” Sirius’ voice sounds slightly choked as he places a kiss on Harry's forearm and squeezes him once more before letting go of Harry's embrace and composing himself, sniffing.

But Harry doesn't answer, he’s going to cry if he tries.

“Do you want me to tuck you in bed?” Sirius asks teasingly, while Harry dried his face on the sleeves of his old, soft pyjama shirt.

“Fuck off.” 

Sirius laughs, throwing his head back, his shoulders shaking.

Alive, alive, oh so alive and Harry smiles at his back. 

“The fucking will need to wait, Harry. The doctor ordered Remus ‘absolute rest’, remember?” He waggles his eyebrows provocatively.

“You are disgusting!” Harry hurries out of the kitchen, cursing under his breath. “Jesus!”

Sirius laughs softly, and stares at the empty doorway—with teary eyes and his heart full—for a long while after Harry closes the door to his room, he has a wonderful family and Harry deserves all the happiness in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all the love for family vibes <3 hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, Draco needs a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this really small chapter contains a scene of deep angst & blond nudity. (check the tags if you need it)  
> do yourself a favour and have a tea with it!  
> prompt: cold

* * *

_ “No one is able to understand a dragon.” C.F.A. _

* * *

Draco is having a terrible day. 

Fresh out of the shower, he stares at the foggy bathroom mirror. 

He looks awful. 

He’s lost a lot of weight and muscle mass in the last few months. His fair complexion looks even paler. He looks sick. 

There are purplish smudges under his eyes, where the skin is so soft and thin. His high cheekbones are even more pronounced. They used to look sharp and aristocratic but now they just make him look hollow and badly nourished. 

His heart constricts inside his chest and his eyes sting. It’s a scary feeling, this one; seeing him like this makes him see the huge failure that he is. He has always been tall and thin, but the muscles that used to adorn his legs and arms, that made his belly a bit taut and sexy, are all gone. 

He is so thin he can see the bones of his ribs poking under his milky flesh, the hip bones protruding in a pointy V, making the scarce blondish hair in his navel and his limp cock look far less enticing than they used to. 

Draco shivers. He feels cold, so cold, he is not sure if the heating turned off by itself or if the cold came from deep inside him, like a massive block of bones turned ice.

He bites his lip and touches the thatch of blonde curls, fingers caressing the hairs of his pubis in a mix of pleasure and regret, it’s bittersweet. He still can’t believe how low he has fallen. But the mirror doesn’t allow any lies or embellishments: this is the truth, this is how he looks now, this is the ghost of who he used to be. 

And he hates it. 

He pumps his cock in a lazy pace, with his thumb and finger forming a ring over the pinkish head, pulling foreskin back and forth, creating friction. 

He used to be incredibly good-looking. He used to smirk and wink and lick his lips and men would follow along. He would move his body enticingly on a dance floor and men would circle him like wolves. He would caress his hip bones and sneak a hand under his waistband in dark corners of dance clubs and watch how men would line up for the opportunity. 

He moans, his free hand caressing the soft skin of his belly and up, feeling his ribs, finding a nipple, pinching it sharply. He gasps, cock in hand, fully hard now, and his whole hand grabbing it, pulling, forcefully.

Fuck, he misses it. He misses being desired and desiring—he misses the chase, the fun, the carefree feeling of giving in to sensation.

“Ah...”

His breathing speeds up. The image in the foggy mirror shows him how he would look now; turned on and sickly. Heavy cock, pinkish and slick with his precome. He caresses his chest, his neck, his high, hollow cheekbones, and grabs his hair. His hips stutter, thrusting against his own hand and staring at his cold grey irises in the mirror. 

There's regret and pain and excitement in his eyes. 

He looks almost dangerous, he thinks, and pulls his hair harder in his fist. And pleasure starts building, from the back of his thighs, and in the small of his back, in the depths of his navel and he pumps his cock with more pressure, a bit slower, chasing the orgasm and licking his lips. 

And when he comes, he feels how his strangled moan rips out of him like a blade. He feels cut open. Spatters of pearly come splash over the mirror and the sink. 

He feels emptied out. Not in a good way.

His breath hitches, and a broken sob creeps out, surprising him. 

Draco keeps staring at the mirror as he breaks down. Pain and pleasure intertwine inside his gut and his chest feels constricted and heavy and his breath is forceful and not enough. 

He feels so cold and lonely and scared. And he misses being different.

His wet hair falls over his face as he looks down and takes a shaky hold on the edge of the sink. He is shaking with cold and fear and sadness. 

He wishes he was already dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very thrilled to share this story with everyone! It's been in my head since 2016, so sharing is caring and it's a huge pleasure. If you are enjoying the ride, please leave a kudos and/or comment, it means a lot to me! subscribe if you want to be noticed about updates :) <3  
> *go sip your tea now, see you all tomorrow!*


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: dragons

* * *

_“Dragons always stop on the left side of people, to talk directly to their hearts.” C.F.A._

* * *

Harry pushes against the cold wind and sharp drizzle, holding onto his takeaway coffee and wishing he had brought an umbrella. It’s too early and his eyes are stinging with the wind and he jams the key in the door lock of the bookshop and pushes the door open. 

Warmth embraces him as he closes the door on his back and sighs, thankful. 

He goes about his morning routine: turning the sign in the window to OPEN, mussing with the letters on the small letterbox by the door, putting his wet jacket and beanie on the back room and turning on the kettle for tea in the tiny kitchen. He turns on the computer to check online requests on the bookshop’s website and reads some emails, puts some light music on and sets about to organise the books that arrived yesterday. 

_Moon and Stars_ is a cosy bookshop in a quiet street. The inside is crammed with bookshelves and old sofas and armchairs, and a small stage-like setting close to the big showcase window. They normally hold book launches here, as well as authors’ nights, talk shows, the weekend storytelling activities for children and teens, craft workshops every Thursday afternoon, the book club on Fridays and the _Wilde Tuesdays_ (a more private book club dedicated to queer stories.)

Harry loves this place. 

He can still remember when he first moved in with his godparents after the red tape with the Dursleys worked out and at 5 years old, Harry finally got to live with his parents’ chosen guardians after the car crash. No cupboard anymore—he had a playroom and his own bedroom and he would spend the afternoons with Moony in the bookshop while Sirius worked 10 hours a day in the motorbike shop so they could keep up at the end of the month.

Then Sirius’ dad died, and to everyone’s surprise, left him a third of his fortune, so Sirius stopped working at the motorbike shop and they bought the bookstore from old Mr Binns who wanted to go back to Aberdeen with his grandchildren.

 _Binns’ Books_ turned into _Moon and Stars Bookshop_. 

His godparents’ love for books and stories drove Harry to studying Literature. He always thought he would end up at some school, teaching teenagers about Byron and Wilde and Joyce and Austen. But even though he enjoyed literature, he much preferred his slow, everyday life in the lovely company of Sirius and Remus. 

Harry finishes his coffee and smiles at the newly organised showcase. There is this new book series about a boy becoming friends with a dragon, and the cover art depicts a lot of iridescent figures of dragons flying by the mountainside. It is beautiful. 

He feels a pang. 

He wants so much to meet Draco and the shiny figures make him think of him. How much he wants to bring him to the bookshop, and introduce him to his friends and family. To go out for a cuppa together and just look at him. He looked lovely in all the pictures they shared. High cheekbones and a big smile on his face. He wants to see that smile, to touch it, to kiss it.

Maybe someday. 

The small bell over the front door jingles and a customer comes in. 

“Hello,” Harry welcomes the blonde woman. “How can I help you today?”

Later that day, he writes a long email to Draco, adding a photo of the showcase with the little dragons, telling him everything about the plot of the book and the characters.

He tries to involve Draco in his daily life the most he can. 

In the sorrowful hours of dusk, Draco was the one who stayed awake chatting with him while Remus was in the hospital and Sirius paced the house like an empty shell. 

They shared stories about their childhood in the quiet of night. Harry told him about the cupboard, about coming to live with his godparents, about not understanding much back then. Harry confided in him the shameful bits of himself: of being a pre-teen and embarrassed about Remus’ condition; about not telling his friends upfront about his gay guardians. 

Harry told Draco about how much these memories crossed his mind and hurt his soul nowadays. How having Remus in the hospital was making him remember all the awful feelings he once felt growing up and accepting HIV and homosexuality as part of their family reality. How the idea of losing Moony was bringing back these ugly parts of him that he wanted to forget. 

How Harry felt the bite of guilt like poison every time he visited Moony in the ITU.

And Draco, sweet, sensitive, gentle Draco, welcomed Harry’s shame, sheltered Harry’s fears with a barricade of understanding. He made Harry feel normal and accepted, like any other kid would have been dealing with such huge conflicts. He made Harry feel seen and embraced and cared. 

Draco’s acceptance feels like a warm embrace; an embrace he wants to be able to physically feel.

Harry wants to lay his head against Draco’s shoulder and savour his smell, to touch his high cheekbones with the tip of his nose and kiss the side of his lips. He wants to thank him for saving Harry from the darkest shadows of guilt and regret and shame. 

He wants to be able to give Draco back all the love he gifted Harry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: red bird

* * *

_“Dragons never reveal what they feel.” C.F.A._

* * *

The last few days, Draco has been trying to eat more often. Nutritious meals, the doctor had said, so he has been trying to do it. He only hopes he will gain some weight and stop looking gaunt in his reflection. 

The other day, he went to bed after reading Harry’s long email about dragons. It was so sweet and full of images and tidbits of the story—it warmed his heart. One of the photos was of Harry kissing the miniature plastic dragon, his glasses sitting askew on his nose. He looked so good, his olive skin and unruly hair and a stupid beanie on the top of his head. He wanted to hug him, to snog him senseless. Harry has been the best thing that happened to him lately. 

But the feelings are confusing. He has been lying to Harry. Well, not lying, just not telling him the whole truth. And it’s bittersweet because he wishes it was possible, and real, and that he could touch his pouty bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. 

The knocking on the door startles him. 

It’s Theo. He’s looking uncomfortable standing at the door.

“Pansy told me you haven’t really left the house lately, so I thought we could have a walk in the park,” he says shrugging. 

And walking they go. Draco knows his friends have been worried about him retreating from the world, worming his way into the depths of depression, the dark pit of a whale’s belly. 

They sit at the park and sip at their takeaway tea. It’s not raining for a change, but the air is cold and crisp. It makes Draco shiver and hold on to the warmth of the paper cup, his long thin fingers holding on to the heat like a starved man. 

“You know,” Theo says, looking ahead. “I know we don’t do this,” he keeps on, looking uncomfortable. “This ‘talking about feelings’ thing,” he explains after a moment. 

They both look ahead, their eyes not really meeting. There’s a red bird perched in the high branch of a tree. It looks pretty, pecking at its feathers.

“Hmm,” Draco hums.

“Yes... well, after school—after Mum died, I mean—it was bad, Draco, really bad.” Draco remembers how Theo’s mom’s passing made his friend close himself off and retreat from their group of friends for almost a year. “My head was a pretty bad place to live in.” He huffs a bitter laugh and goes on. “So at one point, my gran took me to a psychologist. I felt so stupid. Jesus Christ, in my head, I thought it was ridiculous. But it helped.”

They keep a solemn silence.

“It helped because I got to talk to someone, knowing they didn’t think I was stupid. And, you see, nowadays, if I think back, the stupid thing was to think you guys would think badly of me for struggling.”

Draco looked up, his cold grey eyes meeting Theo’s blue ones.

“We would never—”

“Now I know.” He smiles sadly. “But back then, thinking about talking about my feelings would drive me right into a panic attack.” He laughs darkly. “I felt like I had no one to talk to, but the psychologist was nice. She convinced me to go to this support group for people who were mourning, and I met such nice people. I still talk to some of them.”

“I didn’t know that, Theo.”

“Heh, I know, I didn’t tell anyone. I felt ashamed.” He shrugs. “But, that’s the thing, Draco. I have no idea what you’re going through, I am not gay, but I don’t want you to feel like you have no one to talk about it.” 

Theodore looks at Draco. There is no pity in his expression, not like how Pansy would look at him. But there is recognition, shared understanding. 

“The loneliness of being inadequate, of being the outcast, the weak one; it kept me a prisoner of the darkness in my own mind, Draco.” His voice is firm in a way Theo normally doesn’t show, the firmness of someone talking from experience. “Y _ou are not alone_ , Draco.” 

His voice rings through the cold breeze like a spell. Like old magic. Like something stronger and deeper than Draco had felt in years. 

“And you will never be, because I don’t plan on leaving you by yourself. And I am sure Pansy, Greg and even Blaise feel the same. If you would let me, I would like to listen to you, Draco,” he presses on, this time a little bit gentler and Draco feels his eyes sting with tears.

A weird emotion creeps to the surface of his heart. Like a wave, a tender, warm wave of emotion. Of understanding, of not being completely by his own. 

Theo must have noticed, because he extends a hand and rests in on Draco’s bony knee, his fingers warming the woolen trouser and the skin underneath. 

“I am not going anywhere,” Theo says, his own eyes looking slightly watery. 

Draco brushes away a fugitive tear rolling down his face, looking away to compose himself and the crashing waves inside his chest. His eyes land on the red bird again—it wasn’t alone anymore, as another red bird was sitting by its side, and they were pecking gently at each other. 

“Thanks, Theodore,” he mutters, once he feels he can trust his voice again. 

Then he sighs deeply and decides to accept the offer, as Theo’s hand keeps firm on his knee, his eyes trained on Draco, expectant. 

“I haven’t told my mother yet...” he starts. 

And after the first words, he realises there are many other words that need to come out. They talk for hours, they walk back to his flat and talk and talk, while Theo cooks some bad pasta carbonara and they eat in front of the telly. He tells Theo everything, about his fears, his loneliness, his anger. He tells him about Harry and about his hollowing sadness and how he misses his previous life. 

Slowly, he figures that he wasn’t really alone. That the loneliness in his head and heart are part of the fear of losing the people he loved. 

And maybe people would stay even knowing about that ugly part of him. 

“We could check out a group support, it might help,” Theo mentions before he left. 

“I will think about it. Thanks for today, Theo.”

And, weird as life has been, Theodore actually pulls him into a hug and tells him, very honestly, that it was his pleasure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who commented! really, it means the world to me. To be sharing this story with you all... the feedback counter-backs the anxiety of posting and writing at the same time. English is not my first language, so writing this multi-chapters story in a foreign language to a wider public, a drarry fic, it's a big step for me. And all your comments make me believe that I can do this. If, at any point, this story triggers you or moves you, please feel free to talk to me, here, or at tumblr or at the drarry discord. I'm here to hear and share. After all, we grow together in sharedness. We are not alone, dears. I hope you are enjoying the ride, folks. Be safe, my darlings, have some tea and a great Saturday. <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the boys go naughty ;9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: this chapter contains a scene of someone cutting their foot non intentionally and there’s blood, so if you are sensitive, just message me and I can send you an un-blooded-version. also: naughtiness ^^
> 
> prompt: miniature pine tree

* * *

_“I like to say that I have a dragon who lives with me, though it’s not true.” C.F.A._

* * *

Harry is looking intently at the screen. It’s Friday night and he is so pleased Draco is online—he doesn’t want to miss a beat of their conversation. 

**Draco:** _I’m sorry I’ve been a bit absent. I’m rebonding with a friend. We take walks in the park and just talk about life. It’s nice._

**Harry:** _That’s good, Draco. Not that I didn’t miss you, hehe. I wish I could walk in the park with you and talk about life_. 

He has been trying to subtly convince Draco that they should meet. But Draco is a sneaky bastard that always finds a way of saying no without actually saying no. 

**Draco:** _about that..._

And Harry’s heart beats faster in his chest.

 **Harry:** _mmm?_

 **Draco:** _I know you want to meet. But I’m not ready._

Harry deflates against the chair, feeling his whole body weighing much more than it normally does. He hates it. He hates to feel so close to this man and at the same time so distant. It’s like Draco is intangible. A ghost, ethereal and unreachable. 

He knows it’s weird. To meet people online, to prefer to spend his time in front of a screen than to go out with his friends. Ginny and Ron have been messing with him about it as he stopped going to the pub on Fridays night to spend his time talking to Draco.

Hermione is the only one who understands—well, her and Luna. But Luna is understanding and sweet about everyone's life choices. They get it. 

They get that Harry was in a difficult situation; he was scared, and he found support in this weird friendship with Draco. Because Draco gets it. He is also gay, and knows HIV-positive people. Draco has his own struggles with his depression, his homophobic family; he hasn’t even come out to his parents yet. He also loves reading and writing and they bonded over all this. 

His friends are very supportive, but they don’t know what it is to be queer, or to have someone you love dealing with serious health issues every time their immune system gets weak. 

**Harry:** _It’s okay, Draco..._

 **Draco:** _I know it’s not. I am really sorry._

Harry sighs. What can he do? Well, he could hold it against Draco and stop talking to him. But Harry doesn’t like to lie to himself and he doesn’t want to stop talking to Draco. Draco is the highlight of his days. 

**Draco:** _I really like you..._

 **Harry:** _I like you too..._

 **Draco:** _I mean,_ like _like._

Harry laughs, excitedly.

 **Harry:** _Me too. I’ve told you before, I think of you every day. Especially before bedtime..._

He feels bold. Oh, so bold. He’s been jerking off to the idea and the pictures of Draco for weeks now. 

**Draco:** *winks* _you are not the only one... :P_

Harry looks up, checks that the door is closed, the lights are turned off. It’s late, so Sirius and Remus are probably asleep or watching something on the telly. He sits more comfortably on the chair and bites his lip. 

**Harry:** _What do you think about? xP_

 **Draco:** _ohh... wouldn’t you like to know? ;)_

 **Harry:** _I’ll tell you what I think if you tell me..._

It takes a while for the reply to come back, so he grabs the roll of toilet paper by his bedside and goes back to his chair.

 **Draco:** _I think about your smile, about kissing you, about your hair tangled in my fingers... I think about taking off your glasses and kissing your eyelids... But, sometimes I think more... haha, more explicit things XD_

 **Harry:** _I think about kissing you too. All the time. I imagine you holding me close. I imagine the taste of your mouth and the feeling of your fingers sliding down my chest..._

 **Harry:** _(Is this too much? I will stop if it’s too much!!)_

 **Draco:** _please don’t stop. It’s not nearly enough..._

 **Harry:** _okay. What else do you think?_

It’s the first time they are talking dirty like this, in such an explicit way. He feels bold and a bit stupid. He feels young, like a teenager again, like he’s having this new exciting experience for the first time. And he wants it. If they can’t see each other at least... at least he can have _this_. 

He is hard inside his pyjama trousers. He is not wearing pants and the slight friction of the soft fabric against his hot skin is making this so sensual. 

**Draco:** _I think about getting on my knees for you. Think about kissing your belly and opening your trousers, and taking your cock in my hand. I think so much about how your cock must be, it’s embarrassing._

He touches himself while reading the answer, sneaking his hand under the waistband and teasing the head of his cock.

 **Harry:** _it’s not embarrassing, it’s hot. I think about your lips on me too. Gods, imagining you on your knees is, wow, just so hot._

 **Draco:** _I’m so hard right now._

 **Harry:** _me too, Draco. You make me so hard._

 **Draco:** _oh god. And I imagine your smell, your taste on my tongue. Harry, think about sucking you off, tonguing at your slit, sucking the swollen head of your cock and teasing your balls with my fingers._

 **Harry:** _shit, Draco._

He is jerking off in earnest now. The soft waistband presses under his balls, making the sensation even more intense. He pumps hard and slow at the same time, teasing his balls as Draco said he would do. 

**Draco:** _I close my eyes, and I jerk myself raw imagining it, the heaviness of your cock in the back of my throat, I would take you so deep until I gagged on it, I am so fucking hungry for you, Harry. I would let you come down my throat while I touch myself, and you would taste delicious._

 **Harry:** _shit I'm cuming._

 **Draco:** _yes yes, Harry, come for me._

He spills over his hand in delicious waves of pleasure and tension and this is so bloody hot. He just messed up his pyjamas, but fuck it. He takes a deep breath and starts typing with the hand that is not full of his own come.

 **Harry:** _I would pull you by the hair, make you stand up and kiss you with your mouth still full of my come. I would stop your hand, because I wanna make you come so bad. I would take you in my hand and play with your dick and kiss you hard, press you against the wall and jerk you off, fast and hard, sucking your tongue like I’d suck your dick-_

 **Draco:** _mmm fuck_

 **Harry:** _I would make a mess of us, Draco. And once you came I would lick it off my hand and I’d kiss you all over again and it would be so dirty and delicious. I want you so much._

Harry raised his soiled hand and pressed it against his lips, then licked his own come off his fingers, imagining it was Draco’s cock against his tongue, imagining his taste, his texture, sucking off his fingers and letting his body cool down.

...

 **Draco:** _sorry, I needed to grab a towel. This was so hot, Harry._

 **Harry:** you came?

 **Draco:** _fuck yes I came, there was jizz all over my t-shirt xD_

 **Harry:** _I wish we could do this for real. I wanna touch you so bad!_

 **Draco:** _I want you too. But real life is hard. And, you know, I love the come play but, you know..._

 **Harry:** _yes I know. No cum play until we get tested! House rules since I was a teenager xD_

He cleans himself while waiting for Draco to reply. It was taking a while, so Harry moves around the room and puts on a clean pair of pyjamas and an old fluffy sweater. On his way, he ends up knocking off the miniature pine plant pot from the windowsill. It clashes loudly against the floor, dirt and porcelain scattering everywhere.

“Shit!”

“Harry?” Remus calls from the living room. “Is everything okay?”

“Shit, shit, shit.” He throws the soiled toilet paper into the bin and jumps into his bed. His bare right foot hurts like hell. “I knocked the pine tree over,” he yells at the door. “It’s fine!”

It is not, he notices belated. 

His foot is bleeding quite a lot over the pale blue duvet and he can’t see his slippers around. There are a lot of porcelain shards on the floor, and the pain is getting worse. He can see the blood pooling around his foot and soiling his bed. It looks black under the bluish light from the computer screen. 

He hates blood so much. 

“Dammit,” he mutters, feeling his eyes sting with pain but trying to be calm. “REMUS!” he calls out. “C’mon,” he starts feeling dizzy, he hates blood so much. He looks up, blinking the tears away staring at the ceiling. “SIRIUS!”

The door bursts open, the light from the hall leaking into the room. Fuck, the floor is a mess. 

Remus is looking at him, concerned. Still thin and frail from the hospital, but much less pale. His shaggy brown hair is peppered up with quite a lot of white here and there.

“What’s wrong?” He turns on the light, his hazel eyes looking around quickly. 

“I cut myself. The floor is full of shards, don’t step on it,” he adds quickly, before Remus could walk in. 

“Okay,” Remus says, retreating his socked feet, looking at Harry’s foot bleeding on the bed, considering it and assessing the scene. “I’ll put some shoes on and ask Sirius to hurry, he’s in the shower.” He nods at Harry, trying to calm him down. “Lie down, Harry, let’s avoid you fainting and falling on your head, shall we?”

“How funny,” he retorts, but Remus looks at him seriously. “Okay...” Harry has a history of fainting after seeing too much blood, but he was a teenager back then, to be fair. 

Remus disappears down the hall.

Harry sits down, feeling nauseous and silly. He looks at his foot and sees a big gash on top of it, blood pouring from it in a very scary way. 

“Oh boy...” he mutters, shutting his eyes closed and lying down, feeling the room spinning around him in dizzying circles. “HURRY UP, DAD, I’M GOING TO FAINT!!”

And faint he does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had great fun writing this chapter xD I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know your thoughts, that's very appreciated! love, tai <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's secret. (or: in which we want to hug Draco)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: cold night
> 
> And now we start the second week of advent. I hope you all are well and safe <3

* * *

_ “Harshness and wrongness seem to be more constant in the nature of dragons than lightness and rightness.” C.F.A. _

* * *

**Harry:** _yes I know. No cum play until we get tested! House rules since I was a teenager xD_

Draco stares at the message for a while. A wave of guilt and dizziness engulfs him. 

He sips at a glass of water and throws his pyjama pants in his dirty laundry. Breathing through his nose in deep, even breaths, just like Theo taught him. The technique is helpful for moments in which he feels overwhelmed. 

He sits back in the chair in front of the computer and sighs, typing. 

**Draco:** _you are really lucky to have such great godparents, and that they taught you all about this. They care about you, this is really beautiful..._

But Harry doesn't reply, not in 5 minutes, not in 10. Draco isn’t sure if he said something wrong or if, maybe, Harry felt so spent he went to bed. Which is actually a sweet image. 

**Draco:** _I hope you are all right there. I really enjoyed what we did today... what do we call it? Cybersex? Did I tire you too much? xD I hope we can do it again :9 I’m going to bed now. G’night!_

He turns off the computer and goes to bed. But sleep isn’t coming anytime soon apparently. He opens the window and angles half of his body out, lighting a fag. 

He should tell Harry the truth. If he keeps on lying it will be impossible to go back. This kind of lie is too big to be mended if he keeps it up for too long. 

Draco has no idea how to bring it up. 

_ So, about getting tested before cum play... Well, we won't be able to play, Harry. I am HIV-positive, _ he thinks bitterly. 

The wind is sharp against his face, blowing the smoke away fast and cold. He can feel his face go cold and flush against it. The cigarette tastes bitter on his tongue. His whole life tastes bitter on his tongue. 

“I’m HIV-positive, Harry. I am sorry,” he mutters aloud, against the wind, feeling the words get blasted by the wind, his low voice and his secrets flying away, far away.

“I am HIV-positive.” he repeats louder. 

Something dark churns in the pit of his stomach.

“I, Draco Malfoy, am HIV-positive,” he repeats even louder. He feels the sting in his eyes and the words sinking in with meaning.

The dark feeling starts boiling; it travels up his stomach, like acidic vomit, like putrid bile, and gnaws up his larynx, a disgustingly bitter taste in the back of his throat and it shakes him like a hurricane. 

With half his body hanging out in the freezing night wind, and a rotten taste in his mouth, it comes out.

Not as vomit. Not as bile. Not even as saliva. 

It comes out as a scream. 

And once it starts he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop screaming. A long suffering  _ ahhhhhh _ that seems to never end. A long scream that he’s kept swallowed down every day since he got tested four months ago with a positive result and a severe depression afterwards. 

He shouts until his throat can't anymore, feeling hoarse and sore; and some neighbour downstairs calls him out to shut up. 

He crawls into bed, emptied out and shivering. He lays on his side, curled up like a foetus, hugging his bony knees and cries. His whole body rocks back and forth with his sobs. 

Draco feels the massive pain of reality. 

It was okay to play along with Harry online. Innocent even, to talk about cocks and spunk on mouths and arses. But in real life it is impossible. How can he tell him that now, now that he knows Harry wanted to eat his cum and kiss him messily?

How is he supposed to live with the frustration? 

How is he supposed to fuck someone or be fucked, and feel safe, or at least not guilty?

How is he supposed to live a life like this? 

He is only 24 and he has fucked several strangers but now,  _ now _ he couldn’t go back to it again, could he?

How is he supposed to have a sex life at all without having a fucking panic attack? 

What if he passes the virus to someone else? What if it was Harry?

So, he cries himself to sleep. 

The next morning, with the light flooding his bed like a stage, cold and ethereal, like a bloody film scene, his mind is clear as the light of the morning, his heart heavy but still beating. 

He is alive.

When he woke up that morning, Draco knew deep down his tender bruised heart, that there were probably answers to all his questions. He knows for a fact he’s not the only one out there living with HIV. He knows, obviously, that in 2004, people are living healthy lives with meds and diets and exercise. It isn’t the 70s or 80s. 

So there are others out there, having sex, living their lives, and being as happy as one can be. And maybe he can as well...

They would have the answers to his questions and fears. And even though talking to Theo, or even to Pansy, was really helpful, it isn’t enough this time. He needs to talk to people that, just like him, are dealing daily with HIV. He needs to hear their stories and experiences, learn from them and discover how he can live with it as well.

He needs answers. And he needs people who understand his fears and sadness and frustration. Maybe he even needs group therapy. 

And, suddenly, he feels like he is ready to look for it.

To search for hope.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I wouldn't be able to post today, but here we are with chapter 8! \o/  
> I dedicate this chapter to my wonderful beta, OllieMaye, because she enjoyed this bit of Moony <3
> 
> prompt: hot chocolate

* * *

_ "A dragon comes and goes so that your world can expand." C.F.A. _

* * *

Harry’s memories from last night are all messy. 

He remembers waking up from fainting and seeing Sirius staring at him worriedly from the doorstep, his long hair wet and dripping down his flannel shirt, speaking fast while zipping his jeans. 

He remembers Remus touching his cheek and calling his name, and busying himself bandaging Harry’s right foot.

“You are not to touch this mess, Remus,” Sirius was saying firmly and Harry was feeling numb and dizzy and in so much pain. “Will it need stitches?” he asked.

“Yes, Sirius, it will need stitching,” Remus answered. “And of course, I’ll clean the floor.”

“No, you will not,” Sirius pressed. “Your immune system is still too low to take you to A&E with a bloody cut, alright?” he sounded mad. 

“Dad,” Harry mumbled, his vision blurring.

“It’s fine, Harry, don’t listen to Padfoot. I’m just going to vacuum it, I won’t touch it and won’t get cut, I promise.”

“I’m so dizzy,” he kept saying. 

At some point, Sirius carried him into the back seat of the car and talked to him cheerfully. He was making jokes, saying Harry was a bloody scaredy cat that kept calling his daddies because of some blood. But his voice was strained and he kept looking at the rear mirror with concerned eyes, and kept chatting with him and asking if he was dizzy again. 

Harry knows him too well. Sirius was nervous, he was scared, and he was trying to keep Harry awake. And Harry knows, alright, he bloody knows it, but he is pissed off. Mainly, because he feels stupid. 

How could things turn from having marvellous cybersex, to splitting his foot open, to fainting at the sight of blood and being carried by his godfather to hospital like a damsel in distress. 

He feels ridiculous. 

In the end, he needed seven stitches and he cried and fainted again and Padfoot held his hand throughout the process. 

It’s so shameful. He’sfucking twenty-four and he can’t see a bit of blood. 

It wasn’t a bit actually. The doctor explained that the foot is a highly irrigated area and that it can bleed a lot, but everything was fine, and sent him home with orders for a 2-day leave and painkillers. 

Harry wanted to die. 

He didn’t die. But he did sleep as soon as he lied down in his bed. And Remus had cleaned the room and changed the duvet cover. There was hot tea and a tablet of painkillers by the small night table. The big shards of white porcelain were, indeed, resting in the corner on top of the dustpan. Sirius was the one to clean up the mess.

Harry saw him hugging Remus by the door and kissing him on the lips, muttering nonsense, like “ _ good boy _ ”, that made Remus snort and roll his eyes and slap him on the bum, hurrying him out of the room. 

“Rest, Harry. I’ll leave the door open in case you need anything.” Remus placed a tall glass of water on the night table, caressed his hair and kissed his forehead goodnight. 

Like a child. 

But now, Harry is waking up late next morning and the memories are coming back together. And the realisation hits him:

_ He never said goodbye to Draco with the whole ridiculous cutting-his-foot situation _ .

Remus knocks on the door softly, holding a steaming cup of tea and Harry props himself against the wooden headboard. 

“How are you feeling?”

Harry shrugs. He feels tired and a bit hazy with painkillers. 

“Stupid.”

Remus snorts and comes in, sitting on the side of the bed and passing the cup of tea to Harry’s hands. 

“I’ll make you pancakes, like when you were a kid,” he smiles at Harry.

“I am sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, it was just an accident, and you are all stitched up and well.”

Harry nods, sipping on his tea. 

“We need to talk, though,” Remus says.

The morning light is coming in from the window and making the white hair on the sides of his temples more pronounced.

“What’s going on?” Harry asks, feeling his whole body tense up.

“Nothing bad, but I did something that I shouldn’t have,” he says, wrinkling his nose and looking guilty. 

“What did you do, Moony?” his voice is soft now, not tensing anymore.

“I was cleaning your room yesterday and your computer started beeping. I thought it was some video game and just wanted to turn it off,” he shakes his head lightly.

“Oh...”

“Yes, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. It was a chat message open on the screen. I didn’t read much, I promise, but there was something about cybersex, and I closed the chat as soon as I saw the word ‘sex’.” He stops at that as Harry grunts and hides his face with one hand.

This is terrible. 

“I thought I should let you know, because this is the honest thing to do,” Remus is looking at him with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “So...”

“So, what?” Harry groans.

Remus laughs—his laugh is a rich sound that always disarms Harry—and pats at Harry’s thigh, lightly. 

“Who is this? Is this the guy Sirius told me about?”

“Argh, why?” Harry looks up. 

For a grown-up, he is pretty sure he is doing it all wrong. His godparents shouldn’t know about his cybersex life—he feels like a teenager. Knocking over pots of plants after an intense orgasm and cutting his stupid big foot. Fainting because of blood and crying in the hospital room. 

Ridiculous, really.

“C’mon, I wanna know about him, too,” Remus looks pleading. 

“Alright. He is nice, he is my age, he is gay but not out. We met on the LGBT forum, his best friend is HIV-positive. And yesterday was the first time we ever...”

He shuts up, looking skittishly at his godfather and Remus smiles brightly at him. 

“I’m glad he helped you through last month, Harry,” he says, lightly, and then Remus takes a deep breath and holds Harry’s free hand. “Listen, I know it was all really scary. I was scared too.” He looks at their hands. “I know it can be a very lonely experience to deal with all that... Facing the possibility of death.”

Remus swallows a few times, bites down on his lip and looks up. 

“Yesterday, before you fainted, Harry, you called me  _ dad _ ,” he smiles sadly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “And it’s stupid because, of course,  _ of course _ when you were a kid you would call us dad all the time, but then, it started to be Moon’ and Pa’, and then Moony and Padfoot...” He swallows again, his throat working. “But, yesterday, when you said ‘ _ Hurry up, dad _ ’”—a fat tear rolls down his face as he says that. 

He sniffs before continuing.

“I felt so bloody happy because, I really,  _ really _ wanted to hear you say that one more time. It was one of the things I thought when I was in the ITU. That I wish you would call me dad once more before I died.”

He lets out a strangled wet laugh and dries his tears, finally looking up at Harry. 

“I know I am not your dad, and I would never ever want to steal this place from James, because he was one of the best,  _ best _ people I’ve ever met. But this is what you are for me Harry,” he smiles, and the tears roll down his face again, uncontrolled. “You are my son, Harry. And you are the best thing that ever happened in my life, pup.”

Harry swallows, his throat constricted; he is speechless. His face is already all wet with tears that he wasn’t even aware were falling down his heated cheeks. 

“So,” Remus clears his throat and draws him a funny look. “I am very thankful for your online friend to have helped you cope while I was away, and that means a lot to me. So I thought two things, one is that I would like you to tell him thank you from me.” His voice trembles at this and he clears his throat again. “Second, I think it would help us all if we went back to the group sessions. Online friends are great, but having an in-person community is very important. What do you think about that?”

Harry takes a sip of tea and holds Remus’ hand firmly in his. It’s all too much, there’s an ocean of emotions and thoughts and feelings inside his chest. He takes a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he starts. “I think I would like that, dad, like old times,” he manages to say, his voice shaky and hoarse, his vision blurring with tears.

And Remus hums at him, a hand caressing Harry’s hair like he always does, with so much love and warmth in his eyes. Harry loves him so much.

“That’s good, pup,” he nods at him, easy and calm. A small smile on his lips. “I asked Sirius too, you saw him back then, he wasn’t doing great. That’s why Rolf was stopping by every other day, because I called him and asked him to keep an eye on your godfather,” he tells him, more composed now. “I’ll let Rolf know that you and Sirius will be going back to the group sessions.”

There’s a pregnant silence, one full of many fears and ‘what if’s. It loomed over their heads when Remus was hospitalised and it was still present now. They will need to take care of it. Harry lets out a long sigh.

“It will be good,” he says, looking down at their intertwined fingers. “It was very scary, Moony.”

Remus caresses his hair and kisses his forehead again. 

“Yes, it was,” he agrees, sighing. “What about some pancakes and hot chocolate?”

“Perfect, I’ll just pop into the bathroom and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Remus nods, holding tight onto Harry’s hand once again before letting it go and standing up. But then, Harry moves on the bed and holds his wrist before he can move away.

They look at each other.

“I love you very much, dad. And I am really glad you are here right now,” he says before his voice breaks down.

Remus half sobs, half laughs and bends down to hug his godson fiercely. 

“I love you more than anything, son.”

Later that day, Harry tells Remus everything about Draco and they watch the telly, sipping on hot cocoa and enjoying their time together, while Sirius tends the bookshop. It’s unusual nowadays to have alone time with Remus, so Harry enjoys it the most he can. He is tremendously happy to have him, safe, alive and breathing by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm indulging myself in giving Harry the best family, and I'm having a great time. Hope you too! :3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: grieving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trans men are men, trans women are women <3  
> We all know that back in 2004, transitioning for trans folk was not something easy to achieve (we’re in bloody 2020, and it is still insanely hard to get hormones and surgery), BUT I’m using a bit of poetic license here and this chapter contains one (1) really fit trans counsellor, who—god bless him—got his top surgery and hormones alright in our imaginary 2004. This character was inspired by my best friend Will, an amazing man that has a huge heart and a beautiful way with words. He’s a massive blessing in my life! I can only drool so much at his gorgeous writer-psychologist vibe and style, his arms, his legs, his hands, his smile, his eyes, his beard, his voice, his whole amazing being!! As you can see, my dear readers, this author has one (1) strong crush. Will you marry me, William? <3
> 
> promtp: lol, ya'll it was a tiny christmas three with the rainbow colours, which I am using as: LGBTQIA! <3

* * *

_He himself (the Dragon) was the exact opposite of what he should be. C.F.A._

* * *

Draco is having a good day for a change. 

He feels weirdly at ease. It’s probably related to the fact that he spent most of his Saturday browsing the internet with Pansy, checking different webpages and calling different centres, until they found one that had group therapy for HIV-positive LGBT people. 

Pansy looked at him with a big smile and teary eyes, and said she was proud of him for taking the step forward.

Though, he cried a lot that same night while reading Harry’s email. Well, he laughed and then he cried. 

Because Harry said that he was so dumbstruck after Draco made him come on Friday that he knocked over a potted plant and cut his foot, and his godfather needed to drive him to the hospital. And Draco felt hot and bothered by the fact he drove Harry to a mess of wobbly limbs. But the idea of Harry bleeding made Draco feel nervous and scared about everything.

Harry also told him that he confided to his godfather, Moony, about Draco. And the idea was so sweet, so tender—he felt loved, and it was too much. So Draco needed a drink to process the fact that Harry was telling people about him. 

Because Draco is lying so much to him.

He feels heartbroken.

He knows he needs to come clean soon. Otherwise, whatever it is they are building together will crash down on them in a mess of really painful wounds. 

He doesn’t want it to happen.

He owes Harry the truth. But right now, in the messy tangle of lies, Draco doesn't know how to tell him, or where to start.

-

But today is a good day, because Pansy accompanied him to the LGBT Centre. He feels like this is the first step towards dealing with his condition for real. He needs help to come clean to himself, and then maybe he will be able to come clean to Harry as well.

Counsellor Scamander explains to them about all the options they have: a group for family and friends once a week on Saturday mornings and groups for HIV/AIDS and Hepatitis C patients twice a week. After they tour the Centre, Pansy leaves for work and Draco has his first private counselling session with Counsellor Scamander.

“Please, call me Rolf,” he insists and Draco smiles at him. 

It's a bit difficult to pay attention because he is getting terribly distracted by the way the grey sweater hugs Rolf’s toned shoulders and upper arms. He is incredibly fit. It’s been a while since Draco saw such a gorgeous man in front of him. The strawberry blond curls on the top of his head are nicely styled his sweet blue eyes crinkling at the corners, his trimmed beard and a bloody delicious voice are a bit overwhelming.

“Alright there, Draco?” he asks with his deep voice, and there’s a small knowing smile playing across his lips. He has obviously seen right through Draco.

And it’s when Draco realises Rolf kept speaking while Draco drooled over him like a stupid teenager. He clears his throat and recomposes himself.

“Yes, sorry, I zoned out a bit.”

“That’s fine,” Rolf looks down at the form in his hands, that bloody little smile still there. “I was asking about your T-cell numbers. When was the last time you had a medical appointment?”

“Oh, it was two weeks ago. The count was just above five hundred.” He doesn’t share that two months ago, it was pretty bad, or that he wanted to starve to death and be done with everything. 

“That’s a healthy amount, Draco. Let’s try to keep this up, then We also have a nutritionist that can help you with a balanced diet.” Rolf nods and writes it down. “When did you discover that you were positive?”

Draco blinks at that, the memories feeling like a sore wound. 

“Four months ago.”

Rolf watches him carefully.

“That’s very recent,” he says softly. “Have you talked about it with a therapist?”

“No, no.”

He feels suddenly cold. Takes a deep breath. 

“Have you talked to anyone?”

Draco shrugs. 

“Only a few friends, but not much.”

Rolf nods and puts the form down. His serene blue eyes are trained on Draco with such care, as if he knows the feeling. 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

His voice sounds patient and gentle, like a caress, in such a way that almost feels like an embrace. Draco cracks his knuckles, his jaw working, anxiety making his legs start bouncing up and down. 

“I don’t—I—”

He draws a deep breath and Rolf smiles at him softly. 

“You don’t have to,” he says calmly. “But in the group, at some point, it would be good if you shared with others. It’s perfectly fine to just watch and listen in the beginning. But the best part lies in the sharing,” he explains, his eyes crinkling. “You see, for most of us,” and Draco notices how he is including himself, “we don’t find many safe places to talk about whatever it is that drove us to this space. We don’t have many people to talk to about most of our experiences. In your case it’s the HIV, for others it is coming out, or Hep C, in my case, it is the long and lonely journey of my transition, even though now I’m passing as you can see.”

This surprises Draco. He hasn't realised. 

“It is normal that in the beginning, we still feel skeptical, or afraid of sharing, but with time, we learn that it’s safe to share,” Rolf explains. 

“Alright,” Draco manages.

“I would like to see you once a week, apart from the support group, I think it would help. We can discuss things that maybe you wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing. Would you like that?”

He breathes with the idea, savouring it. A private space to talk about his issues, to ask questions. 

That would be a good start. 

“I have a lot of questions,” he blurts out. “And I feel scared all the time, because I feel like this all only happened when my life finally started, and now—now it’s like my life is over.”

Rolf nods, sitting more comfortably in the armchair. 

“This is perfectly normal, Draco. You are grieving your previous life. And this can be very scary.”

“Grieving...” he repeats it, tasting it, making sense of it. “I am grieving,” he says aloud, uncertain of why but saying it makes so much sense. 

The feelings that have been throwing him down. As if everything was over, as if now he couldn’t keep up as before. The oppressive sensation of loss. So much loss. A suffocating loss of...

And then, the realisation is so intense that he needs to take a deep, shaky breath. 

“I am grieving the life I thought I would have,” he says, simply, as if the information was there, inside of him all along, but only now, listening to this man, he is able to connect the dots, the feelings and make sense of it. 

Rolf hums in agreement and Draco looks up. He looks at this perfect stranger, who is too good looking and kind to be for real, but now he sees it. In his beautiful blue eyes lie such depth, such wisdom. He is probably not even ten years older than Draco no more, but he looks at ease, inside his body, a body he needed to fight for. He’d made peace with his struggles and his scars.

And Draco realises he wants that. He wants to be at ease inside his body, the body that now carries a virus. He wants to be at peace with his own existence. 

He wants to be able to reach that. 

If talking will help, then he wants to talk. 

“How was it, Draco, getting the result?”

“I felt very depressed after. I did not believe for days, actually, I spent most of the first week drunk and high and not thinking about it”—he can remember that well. 

He didn’t see his friends for more than a week. He’d wake up in pools of his own vomit for days. He would shout and scream in the middle of a rave in some weird abandoned building. He’d scream so loud he’d lose his voice the next day.

It’s a mismatched set of images and memories. He is not even sure they are real.

“It felt like it was someone else's life that got fucked, not mine. But it was mine. And I felt so angry, so confused. I still do...” he remembers screaming himself hoarse on Friday night, through the window, after having cybersex with Harry.

His eyes sting, his face feels hot and his fingers are shaking on his lap. 

There’s so much inside, so much. He doesn’t know how to manage.

So he keeps talking.

“I stopped eating for a while, after I told my best friends, because it made me feel like I could control something in my life. And now,” he laughs a bitter laugh that sounds like a broken sob. “I lost so much weight, look at me...” He shakes his head, ashamed of himself, looking at his bony limbs with disgust. “It felt like my life was over.”

There’s so much anger, and spite, and disgust, and hate and self-loathing.

“I kind of wanted to die, but didn’t want to kill myself... I felt so dead inside. I still do, on my worst days...”

And Rolf listens. He asks a few questions, helping Draco untangle feelings he couldn’t make sense of on his own. 

By the end of this first session, Draco feels like a truck ran over him. Everything hurts, emotionally and physically. He is wrung out. They covered the first months after Draco got his positive result. Those were the worst months, so revisiting that time feels like opening a badly healed wound, like an infected wound that needs constant cleaning once it’s reopened. 

Rolf explains, quietly. About paying attention to how he is going to feel the next few days, and that he will be expecting to see him in the support group later in the week. Lets him know he can call the Centre if he feels like he needs it, and that he should let his closer friends and family know that he is going through a sensitive moment. That he should rely on people he feels comfortable with. 

Draco leaves the Centre and the cold wind feels oddly fitting. And the wounded feeling inside, though too exposed as it is right now, tender after so much touching and prodding, also feels more bearable. 

He has been so scared to look deep inside himself, to see all the pain, that he kept hiding from it. But now, strung out and taut and bloody tired, he feels like it’s okay to look at it with a bit of professional help. 

The massive weight that had been a constant on his shoulders, is not as heavy as it was yesterday. 

So, he thinks, maybe it’s a good start, even if it hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to "Draco goes to therapy" the chapter, provided by yours truly xD   
> Well we ARE starting the healing arch of this fic <3 Accepting one's reality is often very hard, so I'm glad Draco took this very brave step and searched for help. 
> 
> (A bit about grieving: in psychology we often work with grief not only in the sense of losing loved ones, grieving is very common when someone discovers a condition or illness or goes through a divorce, but also in positive changes like getting married, moving to a new city/job/country, having a baby, because there is normally a bit of loss/grief in any life-changing experiences (be it big and traumatic or small and smooth). It can be expressed in several ways and it's very, very, personal. )


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: it was an ice deer figure, so: PRONGS! happy reading babes!

**PART TWO**

* * *

_"I learned how to notice when the dragon was beside me." C.F.A._

* * *

Harry is not in the best mood today, even though Luna is trying to brighten him up.

“C’mon, it’s been a while since we last had a big hangout, clubbing together will be brilliant, like old times...” she says, mussing with the stash of colourful highlighters on the countertop of the till. 

Sirius is in the back office, on the phone dealing with some editorial bulshit. 

“I don’t know,” he says.

This week has been a bit shit. He’d gone with Moony and Padfoot to his parents’ grave for their annual visit, they missed the anniversary date as Remus was still recovering. It's a small tradition. They go together and bring some flowers, share memories, and tell Lily and James the latest news. 

Though this year’s news was quite sombre. Harry can’t quite shake the feeling off his shoulders. And he can’t understand how Sirius makes jokes about Remus and his hospital scare, saying “ _ Oh Prongs, Moony almost,  _ almost _ , paid you and Lily a visit, but in the end he knows Harry and I need him more _ .”

And Remus laughed darkly while Harry tried his best not to sob like a stupid kid. 

It feels too soon to make jokes, it is too much to even play around with the idea of Remus dying just like that, and paying a stupid visit to his mom and dad. 

After they went home from the graveyard, the three of them got drunk together in their kitchen and ended up sobbing. By nine Harry retreated to his room once Padfoot started getting handsy and waxing saucy poetry to Moony with heated eyes. 

So he locked the door, wrote to Draco and they had cybersex again. 

Harry is growing more and more frustrated by the day. He really wants to meet Draco and it’s nagging him and darkening his mood in a way he doesn’t really understand.

“Well, you have time to decide if you want to come,” Luna says lightly. “You know,” she comes around and stands by him, looming over the computer screen, “maybe it is the only way Sirius knows how to cope.” And she says that with her big, bright blue eyes staring at him, with the calm of a saint.

Harry wonders if she’s a seer or something, or if she can hear his thoughts, or if she’s just a creep. Though they talked about it once she arrived, he doesn’t know how she keeps picking up cues about Harry’s thoughts. Maybe it is because she is doing her master’s in art therapy, maybe she is learning. Maybe she is spending too much time asking Counsellor Rolf about all things psychology.

“I know,” he deflates. He’s been angry with Sirius the whole week. 

“I hope going back to group therapy helps out,” Luna says. “I forgot to ask before, how does it feel like to be back?”

Harry smiles at her, and the way she is always aware of his life in a way Ron and Hermione are not anymore, since they moved together. It feels like Luna is always there, even with her batshit-crazy idiosyncracies and personal life, and her own issues and questions and her massive crush on Rolf.

“It’s good,” he says softly. “Well, you know, I think it will help me deal with the feelings. Sirius too, he was a bit angry in the beginning of the session, but Rolf always knows how to lead, doesn’t he?”

At that, she looks dreamy and a big smile splits her face, brightly.

“Oh, how I wish I knew, Harry.” She laughs, and he does too. He wonders if Rolf will ever give her a chance.

It’s lovely to see her in love.

“Anyways,” she comes back from dreamy land. “I’m sure the therapy will help!”

“And there’s a lot of new faces, you know.” He tells her about the new group members. “Everyone has their own stories. But I think, in the end, we are all dealing with the fear of losing someone we care for, mainly.”

She nods. 

Luna knows. And he knows she knows. 

When they were teenagers, she was the only one who actually got him. Bonding over dead parents was a weird thing to do, but it was what made them as thick as blood. They got each other, their fears and how they coped in their own unique ways.

He knows Luna has always been scared of losing her dad, the same way Harry fears losing Moony or Padfoot.

“Now,” she brightens up, “tell me more about the internet boy,” she asks, moving around again and walking to an empty armchair by the display bookcase.

“You already know it all, Luna,” he shrugs. “He started therapy and that is giving him a lot to mull over, so he has been quieter. But, he came out to his mom.”

“Oh, that sounds scary,” she mutters. Her big eyes roaming the bookshelves. 

“Yes, it does if you grew up with big homophobes for parents,” he concedes. 

Harry feels kind of proud. Because since the beginning, two months ago, when he started chatting with Draco, it was one of the things the man kept saying he wasn’t sure how to do. And now, he has done it. 

Draco said she cried, but she did not treat him badly, only cried. 

“Let me see his picture again,” she asks, moving out of the armchair like a cat, her purplish long dress moving around her ankles like enchanted water. 

He clicks on the email tab and opens the image. A huge grin spreads across his face as he watches Draco laughing in the picture, looking dashing and happy. Nothing like the kind of deep sadness that he lets on on their messages, late at night, when they talk about life, about dreams or about Draco’s depression and Harry’s terror of losing Moony.

“He doesn’t look like a Draco,” she decides, staring at the picture. 

Harry blinks at that, staring at Draco and his high cheekbones and full lips. He wants to taste those lips like a thirsty man wants water—with desperation. 

“What does a Draco look like?” he asks her, dumbfounded. 

“Oh,” she looks up at him and blinks slowly, then she looks back at the screen. “I am not sure, but this one looks like an Adonis, like a Greek god,” she explains.

And Harry laughs. Of course, of course Draco looks like a Greek god, but the name of a constellation is kind of fitting, isn’t it?

Sirius comes out of the office, and Harry closes the picture and opens the order list he was supposed to be working on right now. 

“Okay, children,” he says with a big flourish of his hands. “This old man here is ready to leave and find some love in the arms of his beloved,” he beams. 

“That sounds lovely!” Luna smiles brightly at him and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“You sound utterly happy for a man who was in a terribly long phone call with the publishing house,” Harry points out.

“But guess what, Harry?!”

“What?”

“They were looking for the right place to do a queer books event in December, and it’s going to be in  _ Moon and Stars _ !”

“Oh, this sounds delightful!” Luna exclaims. 

“Really?” Harry brightens up. 

“Yes!” Sirius laughs a bit, pulling his hair up in a messy bun. “They heard about  _ Wilde Wednesday _ and thought we were the perfect place.”

“That’s great!”

They talk about it some more, and the angry feelings Harry had towards Sirius and his macabre jokes start to dissipate like magic into thin air. They talk about creating community, about coming together to celebrate literature and queerness and love and friendship and safe spaces. 

And Harry feels right at home. 

He feels the frustration that has been nagging him softening its grabby fingers around his heart. He feels that, probably, at some point, he will stop being so scared of something bad happening to Moony, or that maybe soon enough Draco will come around and decide he also wants to meet him in person.

He listens to Sirius and Luna’s laughter as they walk into the tiny back kitchen to make them some tea, and it fills him with a gentle feeling. 

He wishes Draco would stop being a right git and give him a real chance. He wants Draco to come to  _ Moon and Stars _ and to show him the collection of queer books and authors. 

He is pretty sure Draco will love it. 

Harry doesn’t even imagine how close his life and Draco’s are right now. How weirdly the universe is orchestrating their stories to come together at some point. But life works in mysterious ways sometimes.

When the phone rings, Harry brightly answers saying, “ _ Moon and Stars _ bookshop, how can I help you?” 

He could never imagine how absurdly close they are. 

“Is this Sirius Black’s bookshop?” a female voice asks, her posh accent making Harry recoil a bit. 

“Yes,” he says. “Would you like to speak with him?” 

He looks around as she replies and puts the line on hold, shouting:

“Sirius, there’s someone looking for you on the phone!”

Sirius comes back with two steaming mugs of tea in hands and a big smile. He gives Harry one and nods to the phone.

“Who is it?”

“She didn’t want to say her name.” He shrugs, then makes a face at his godfather. “Is it an old lover coming back from the past?”

“How  _ dare _ you, Harry James, a  _ woman _ , oh the  _ blasphemy _ !” he retorts dramatically with his best mischievous grin, throwing his head back in a theatrical way.

He takes the phone with a flourish and Harry reconnects the line, snorting. 

“This is Sirius Black, how can I help you?” he says seriously.

Then, suddenly, the mischievous glint in his eyes is gone, his eyes go weird for a split second as his long fingers falter and the mug falls from his hand, crashing on the floor in a mix of tea and broken shards of blue porcelain.

Luna comes rushing from the tiny kitchen and Harry is mutely asking  _ what’s wrong _ and his heart is beating like crazy, and he is pretty sure Remus was alright at lunch time so—

Sirius shakes his hand and head as if he was trying to wake up from a bad dream. He looks alarmed and concerned and almost hysterical at the same time.

Harry has never seen him like that before, and when he speaks again, his voice is still deep as always, but there’s this shaky quality to it, saying:

“Narcissa?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, they're so very close now...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: tea :)

* * *

_ " _ _ Because of moments like this, I loved him. And I still love him.   
_ _ Maybe even right now, even without knowing the exact meaning of this dry word - love." C.F.A. _

* * *

It feels exhilarating, as if he is high on some kind of drug. But the only thing he had today was tea after tea and maybe,  _ maybe _ the high comes from the amount of changes he has been working through. 

After his second week of group therapy, he called his mother and asked to meet. After they talked about safety nets in the meeting, Draco felt like he should try.

He felt like he needed to start coming clean with everyone he had in his life and his mum deserved to know. 

There’s no doubt about it—Draco has great friends. Pansy keeps an eye on him and Theo has been taking him for long walks at least twice a week. And Blaise—well, Blaise was the one who found Draco passed out in his own vomit and washed him and fed him and asked what the fuck was wrong with him all those months ago. 

Blaise was the first one he told.

Because Blaise is also gay, so he kind of gets it, or at least what it means. He is the one that comes closest to understanding what Draco is going through. 

Blaise is also the one who got very mad at him. 

Now Draco understands. Because Blaise was as risky as Draco, and it could have been him. So the anger fueled by fear makes sense.

His friends are the ones who have kept him alive the last few months—them and Harry, obviously. But after listening to the others talking about their friends and family in group therapy, Draco felt so upset and lonely that he gathered his wits and rang his mum while waiting outside of the building for Blaise to pick him up for dinner, as they’d planned. 

He called and said a dreadful, “ _ Mother, we need to talk. _ ”

And the next day found them sitting at a posh afternoon tea parlour that made Draco regret the whole ordeal. But he was there and he was ready to come clean, to be honest, and give a chance for others to decide if they want in his life or not. 

He started with the basics, just after the pleasantries and the tea was served and his mum fussing about how thin he looked. 

“Mother, I am gay.”

He said in one go, because he was afraid of chickening out. She looked at him dead in the eye, then looked around to make sure no one was watching or listening to them. Once it was obvious they were having this discussion quite privately, she looked back at him and rolled her eyes grandily, as if she was a teenager. 

“Darling, what do you take me for,” she asked icily. “I have known that for quite a while, took you long enough to tell me though.”

Draco remembers sighing earnestly. 

“I am glad that it only took you an eye roll.”

“I have eyes, Draco,” she explained. “And I am your mother. What kind of mother doesn’t know?”

And it emboldened him. Because even though she was treating him coldly, she wasn’t making a fuss.

“Alright, I am glad we covered this part, but I have something else to confess. I am sick.” 

That got her. He could see the machinations in her eyes, the way her jaw worked and she swallowed two times, wetting her lips and blinking. 

“Go on, love,” she said, resting the teacup back on the saucer and edging her hand closer to his. “I am here for you, and I am going nowhere,” she assured him.

That’s when he noticed his eyes were teary.

“I am HIV-positive, Mum. I am really sorry,” he muttered quietly and she held his hand, nodding.

So they talked about it, and Narcissa cried. She cried and said she was also very sorry and repeated that she was not going anywhere. She even moved to a chair closer to him and took his face in her hands and caressed his cheeks, kissing him softly and whispering “ _ My sweet, sweet boy _ ,” and letting the tears fall from her eyes. 

It was terrifying and also the strongest bonding moment he’d had with her since he was sixteen and his father had  _ the mistress scandal _ . They didn’t mention Lucius in their afternoon together, for the obvious reason of Lucius being a bigoted homophobe, and always meddling in politics, which always made Draco’s life harder, as everything could be bad for Lucius' reputation. 

So, right now, sitting in his tiny flat, staring at the notebook, it feels exhilarating. The way the words flow from him in earnest and honest and pour itself; ink on paper.

Meeting the guys from the group therapy has changed him. He likes it very much. And earlier today he told them about his mother. He even exchanged phone numbers with Cedric and Cho, a couple living with HIV and expecting a baby. 

It’s wonderful and beautiful to see how other people manage it: the fears, the ups and downs, the anger. But in seeing them, a “normal life” seems possible to not succumb to madness. He writes about it, about his feelings and his body and the virus and the men he never fucked and the ones he did. 

_ He writes loud and clear about what hurts* _ —until he starts writing about Harry. 

And writing about Harry is the hardest thing. 

He needs to come clean. He needs to tell him. But it all started from a lie, and now the lies are so big and tangled that he doesn’t know which to begin with. 

He told Harry earlier in the week that therapy is making him think about his life and that’s why he is talking less and less to him. 

But this is just another lie. 

He is avoiding Harry exactly because the therapy makes it very obvious to him that he cannot live up to what he is doing: to the massive lies, to the walls he built around him. To the character he created to talk to Harry. 

It all started out of an honest curiosity. 

Draco just wanted to know how friends and family of HIV-positive people lived that experience. He needed to know back then, because thinking about his friends was the only thing keeping him alive. Draco needed to make sure people would still love him and want to be around him. 

He needed some kind of reassurance.

And Harry needed someone to talk to. 

It was that easy. He said his best friend Blaise got his results—positive. It sounded like an innocent lie; he never even dreamed of his chats with Harry becoming a friendship that developed into something else. Something huge.

Something Draco doesn’t even know how to name. 

For more than two months now, Harry has been like warm sunshine, the highlight of his days, the light at the end of the tunnel. What began with a need of knowing he would still be loved, developed into a need to be seen, and a need to be wanted. 

The flirting started as a way of Draco getting back the exhilarating feeling of being desired, even by a stranger. To know that even contagious and weak and depressed and thin, he was seen as the person he was. 

Obviously, he lied so much about what he was experiencing that it all ended up being half-truths. But still, it felt somehow real. 

The realest part of this whole experience was his feelings for Harry. 

But one lie brought him to the next, and the tangle of lies is such a heavy weight on his shoulders that he doesn’t know how to keep up. 

So he writes. And even though it’s hard to write about Harry, about how he feels about him, he pours like clean water over a wound, and the words are like a healing balm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *quote from Ernest Hemingway <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for: Sirius being crude; past family homophobia; mentions of rimming. (but's none of these get too intense.)  
> prompt: chocolate cake

* * *

_"My heart raced, I figured the dragon was close by". C.F.A._

* * *

“I don’t want to go back to my flat, that’s all,” is what Harry is saying and Sirius is watching him from the sofa with a skeptical expression on his face. “What?” he asks crossly.

“Nothing!” Sirius replies, holding his hands up.

“Why are you looking at me like this?”

Sirius groans and Remus starts laughing, coming into the living room holding a tray with a teapot, cups and plates, setting it on the coffee table, beside the poor chocolate cake he baked earlier today that came out a bit limp and a bit burnt at the same time. 

“You really should stop baking, Moony,” Sirius says, staring at the cake.

“Shut up, Sirius.”

“No,” Sirius insists, brushing a lock of hair out of his face, and pointing at the cake. “It is disastrous,” and Harry has to agree, it looks awful. “The poor thing shouldn’t be called a cake at all!”

“Fuck off!” Remus kicks Sirius on the shin and sets to put awful-looking slices of cake on plates and tea on cups. “Going back to the topic of flats. So you're staying with us, Harry?” he asks lightly, passing a plate to Sirius, who looks at it miserably. 

“Well, if you don’t mind...”

“Of course we don’t mind,” Remus adds quickly, stirring tea and passing it to Harry. “It’s our pleasure, this is your home.”

Sirius grunts. 

“What’s wrong with you today?” Harry retorts. 

It’s been more than two weeks since the graveyard visit, but somehow he is still holding the smallest grudge against Sirius. Also, Draco has been terribly quiet, and last night when they finally met online, he wasn’t only closed off, but he also declined Harry’s attempt at cybersex.

Harry feels a bit miserable. And frustrated. And surly.

“And stop looking at me like that!” he adds, angrily.

“I’m not looking at you in any way,” Sirius complains, rolling his eyes like an irritable teenager. “I’m just surprised that you want to move back for good. You were all ‘ _I need my privacy_ ’ and ‘ _I’m too old to live with you_ ’ and ‘ _I feel like I’m a third wheel blah blah blah_ ’.” 

It’s his mimicking Harry in a baby voice that gets a rise out of Harry and he throws a cushion at his godfather’s face, but Remus catches the cushion midair before it crashes against Sirius and his plate of cake.

“Oh, Sirius,” Remus mutters, disapprovingly, putting the cushion on the floor and sitting on it. “You are _so_ sensitive,” he reproaches. 

Sirius rolls his eyes again and keeps staring at Harry. 

“Are you going to tell us what is going on?” Sirius insists. He is being a right jerk and Harry hates when his godfather does this. 

“That was before, okay?” Harry lets out. “And I feel safer here, that’s all. At least until I’m sure Moony is all well and safe and healthy,” he shrugs and sticks a tongue at Sirius. 

“Moony _is_ well,” Sirius affirms irritably. There’s the sore topic of the house: Harry feeling scared of Remus getting sick again and Padfoot denying the possibility.

“Harry, Padfoot here is a sore loser, he just wants to hear you say how much you love him and miss him and can’t live without him,” Moony laughs, sticking a tongue at Sirius.

“Which _is_ the real reason Harry is moving back for good,” Sirius says smartly. “Because I am wonderful and he cannot live without me!”

“Why are you acting like that?” Harry presses, losing his patience. “You’ve been a right tit all week long.”

Sirius rolls his eyes dramatically and eats his cake making a face.

Harry has a bite. _Good grief!_ It is atrocious. 

“Oh well,” Moony says. “This is the worst cake ever,” he admits and they all laugh at it. He pouts at the cake and looks from Harry to Sirius. “Your godfather is meeting a long-lost cousin next week,” he finally says.

“Oi!” Sirius complains. “This is my story to tell, Remus!”

Remus shrugs. 

“Instead of telling the story, you’ve been a right twat to us all week long and acting like a hormonal teenager, so I am doing the adult thing here and telling Harry.”

“Is this the Narcissa woman who called a couple weeks ago?”

“Yes. So I took my rightful time to mull it over. I don’t know what she wants or what she needs, but I finally agreed.”

Harry nods. 

“It must be important, she’s never called you before.”

“Too right, pup, not her and not anyone else since that awful summer in which my father so nicely kicked me out for sucking cock!”

“ _Sirius_ ,” Remus reproaches and Harry laughs.

“What? It’s true, because my wonderful cousin Bella caught beefy Arpàyd Krum and me going at it in the guest room.”

Harry watches him—Sirius always talks about that in this rich, sarcastic way. Harry is pretty sure deep down it had been awful, terrifying even. Though the story leads to Sirius going to live with Harry’s dad and his parents at the tender age of 17.

“I’m sorry, Sirius.”

The man shrugs and takes a sip of his tea.

“Fear not—if she spews any homophobic bigotry, I shall tell her how great I am at rimming,” he grins meanly.

“SIRIUS!” Remus yelps. Harry gasps and Sirius laughs. 

“I must not tell lies, Moony,” he adds smartly, and Remus is very pink in the face and Harry wants to disappear. 

“I hate you,” Harry mutters, closing his eyes. “I’m so glad I gave in and am going to this new club with my friends tonight. I’ll get so shitfaced I’ll forget all about this bit of information.” He takes a deep calming breath. “I’ve just decided, I’m not moving back after all. I’ll go to my room and pack my poster of Brian Kinney and LEAVE!”

“You will do no such thing!” Sirius says, standing up in grand style. “Brian Kinney and his skinny arse stay in this house!” And he brandishes the tiny spoon in his hand like a threatening sword.

They laugh so hard they forget all about the horrendous cake, about shitty family stories and about how crude Sirius _The Horror_ Black can be.

So Harry drives Remus to the Friday evening HIV-positive support group at the LGBT centre. 

Remus normally goes to the Saturday group since it’s at the same time as the family and friends meeting. But he wants to start doing arts and crafts activities on Saturdays with Luna and the children at the bookshop. He is feeling much stronger lately and the doctor encouraged him to go back to work for good, saying it’s safe. 

“Are you looking forward to going out with your friends tonight?” Remus asks while they are in the car. 

“ _Argh_ , not really,” Harry doesn’t want to think much about it; he may end up deciding against it and opt to stay at home and try to chat with Draco instead. 

“Hmm.” 

“It’s not like I don’t want to see them, it’s just that Draco has been a bit closed off lately, and I don’t know... It’s driving me mad.”

“Should I point out that you should get laid?” Remus asks looking out of the window. “I feel like that’s something Padfoot would say right now.”

“Please don’t.”

“You know what, Harry?” Remus looks at him while Harry makes a point to look at the traffic lights. “I think I will pull a Padfoot here. He is not completely wrong.”

“Must you do this right now? I am _driving_.”

“No, but, hear me out,” he insists. “You are in love with this bloke, you have never seen him, and he doesn’t seem like he is ready to meet in person. You are putting all your real-life life on standby waiting for him to take the leap.”

Harry groans and turns right.

“Go have a good night out with your friends, let yourself live a little. Not to sound like Padfoot, but what if this bloke never comes around? Will you forever be waiting? Don’t you want to get a wee bit drunk and snog someone for a change and give yourself a break?”

“You sound _exactly_ like Padfoot right now, Moony,” he reproaches. “And _you_ are the one that normally sounds like the paragon of charity!”

“He’s rubbing off on me,” Remus shrugs and Harry groans loudly. “I didn’t mean it _that_ way, Harry James, _Jesus Christ!_ ”

“You sound _Just. Like. Him!_ ”

Moony laughs, muttering to himself that maybe he _does_ sound like Padfoot. And looks adoringly out of the window. 

Harry envies him. Envies what Remus and Sirius have, this kind of love that only grows fonder and mixes up their personalities. Makes their lives so very intertwined that neither is able to say where one starts and the other ends. Like a matching set that cannot go mismatched. 

Harry yearns for that kind of love and connection. He parks in front of the LGBT Centre and turns off the car. 

“I will go out and I will have my fun. And no, Remus, you cannot ask about it tomorrow.”

“We will see about that, pup,” Moony winks. “I just worry about you, Harry. And you deserve some fun, that’s all.” He affectionately caresses Harry’s shoulder. "Have fun tonight," he watches Harry with a warm smile on his face, says his goodbyes and then runs out of the car.

Remus rushes inside the LGBT centre and sits in the back of the meeting room. He is running late, the session has already started and there’s a young blond man with high cheekbones speaking. 

He sounds incredibly angry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh well, and then that's that :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: ocean/sea/waves (it was a beach, but who cares?)
> 
> Tw: slut shaming and internalised homophobia. I didn’t want to sugar coat it, as anger, guilt and shame are common parts of the grieving process. 

* * *

_"Dragons don't know paradise, where everything that happens is perfect and nothing hurts or sparkles or gasps, in an eternal monotony of peaceful falsehood. Their paradise is conflict, never harmony." C.F.A._

* * *

It feels like once he lets his anger surface, it comes in wave after terrifying wave of pure, breathtaking, blinding rage. Even his voice is disgusting and cold. Sharp as a dagger's edge. Ready to hurt and maim. 

It feels like poison: it leaks from his mouth and looms over him in a dark cloud. But he cannot stop the floodgates once it starts and it feels like a tsunami of emotions is going to drown him in a sea of suffocating darkness. 

He feels defeated. He wants this feeling to end but it is a bloody ocean of never-ending terror. And he shakes with it, as if his whole body is being dragged by the uncontrollable waves of anger.

Draco can’t shut up; the words falling from his lips like acidic vomit. He’s suddenly maliciously verbose , like a maniac. It startles him, startles him to see how deep these feelings are rooted and how all-consuming it feels. 

It feels like rotten tree roots tangled with his soft, vulnerable entrails. 

And it’s his fault. 

His bloody fault, because he keeps lying to Harry like a bloody online creep. He tried to keep his distance over the last few weeks, and he is working the hardest he can to gather enough courage to tell him the truth. Draco is trying to accept the possibility of Harry rejecting him, but it is hard. 

Too hard to bear sometimes. 

Last night, Harry kept chatting to him and hinting that they could— _you know, only if you want to_ —have cybersex again. 

But Draco can’t. 

Even cybersex feels wrong without telling Harry the truth. 

Someone enters the room and sits close to the door and the sound brings Draco back to his surroundings.

“It is bloody unfair!” he says, his shaky hands gesticulating grandly. “I was no saint, that’s for sure, I had my good share of messy sex with many strangers, but why me? What have I done so wrong? Why not my best friend who was even more of a whore than I was?” he gasps, broken. “I didn’t mean it like that, I am sorry,” he adds quickly, feeling ashamed.

“It’s alright, kid. Go on,” says the old man by his side, Mr. Dumbledore, egging him on. And Rolf is watching him intently from across the circle of chairs, nodding. “Let it all out, pet.” Mr Dumbledore encourages.

Draco sighs. 

“I feel like I will never be able to fuck again. I’ll be too concerned and scared and cornered, and what if I transmit it?” He shakes his head. “But it’s not just that, you know. I miss it, I crave it, the feeling of being desired, the debauchery, the game, to go with a man to a dark alley and just have a go at it. Dirty and messy and nasty and—”

A sob escapes through his lips. He feels so much pain. His shoulders shake and the tears sting and his whole body feels broken.

“This is a lie! This is not even what I actually mean!” he says angrily, agitated. “Because at least I had that. You know? The messy and dirty, the unprotected sex that meant nothing. I bloody had that, time after time, but I’ve never—” He sobs. 

Mr. Dumbledore (“ _please, call me Albus”)_ inches closer, but doesn’t touch him, just looms by his side like a comforting, solid figure. Like an old and eccentric grandfather, gentle and caring.

And Draco breaks down.

“I have never made love to anyone in my life!” he sobs, spitting. And admitting it hurts so much, cuts so deep. “And now, now who the fuck is going to want me? To love me? To endanger their health to make love to me? To look me in the eye when we are naked and vulnerable and on the verge of an orgasm and tell me—tell me th-they love me?!”

A strangled howl leaves his body as he cries openly, ugly, his nose leaking and his whole being shaking. 

And the truth is right there, in front of everyone’s eyes to see. In front of all these strangers that share the same condition. 

“That was very honest,” Rolf says. His eyes are a bit wet as he looks warmly at Draco, and now Draco can see that many others are nodding or drying their eyes or blowing their noses. “Would anyone like to share their feelings about it?” He looks around. 

The man from the back of the room stands and walks into the circle, sitting on one of the empty chairs. He looks old, old like Draco’s parents. He is all long limbs and woolen cardigan, like a character from an old novel. Draco can picture him sitting on an armchair, reading a book, sipping on a cup of tea with a tabby cat on his lap by the window.

“I would like to talk if that's okay, Rolf.”

“Of course, Remus,” Rolf assures him. 

“Sorry that I was late,” he starts, and his voice sounds like warm tea and chocolate cake. It’s weirdly calming. “I hear you talk and I hear myself,” he says, looking at Draco and he lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head and sighing sadly. “I was nineteen and had sex only twice in my life when I was diagnosed,” he tells them. There’s such sorrow in his eyes. “I hated myself so much for trying it out with a man, for craving it so much that I fucked up everything.”

He takes a deep breath. 

“I felt stupid, almost like I deserved it, for wanting this sinful desire. I felt like, for what?” he says, shaking his head. “For a bit of pleasure and to quell a years-long curiosity that I couldn’t keep down anymore? It felt meaningless, and after I got the result, it felt like a curse, that I should learn from it, that I did not deserve good things. Or anything that I wanted deeply.”

It resonates with Draco. The guilt, the disgust, the undeservedness that accompanies bad outcomes. The idea that now he doesn’t get to have happy, beautiful, joyous experiences.

“The first person I told was my best friend and he cried. He got so sad and he cried so much and I was so bloody angry. At him, at me, at my life, at fucking AIDS, at gay sex...”

Draco thinks of Blaise. He thinks of the row they had after telling him he tested positive. About Blaise shouting at him, demanding of him why he hadn’t been more careful. And all the awful things they said to each other until Blaise cracked and started crying, and they held each other, tangled on Draco’s bed and weeping, starting to mourn the frightening reality of disease.

“I was angry at him because I was in love with him,” Remus says, and there’s a sad silence. “I thought: _and now I won't ever be able to have him_ ,” he says. “So I hear you, and it takes me back to that day, takes me back to when I hated myself and my actions so much that I wished I was dead.” 

Remus takes a moment, his jaw working, eyes fixed on the ground in the middle of the circle and Draco hears in his silence the understanding of their shared agony. 

“I was madly in love with him, see, but I was not bold enough to tell him that. And there he was, crying like a ridiculous baby as if it was his life at stake, and I hated him. God, I hated him so much. I wanted to punch him right in the face and say: _see, it’s your fault, why would you fuck around but never see me as an option_ ? I wanted to shout at him and blame him, and say: _if only you had given me the opportunity, I would never have fucked a stranger._ ”

When Remus looks up, there are tears trickling down his cheeks; he looks bitter and mad. His sad hazel eyes look straight at Draco’s grey ones, almost as if he could see his soul.

“He was crying and saying he didn’t want me to die.” He shakes his head, presses his hands against his knees. “Back then, it was bloody scary. We thought it was a death sentence. And he kept repeating it: _Remus, please, don’t die. You can’t die. Not now. Remus please..._ ” He closes his eyes as if watching the scene on repeat on the screen in his mind. “I shouted at him, told him to leave, that I needed to be alone.”

He licks his lip.

“It just broke my heart to see him like that, while I felt so much anger and hate. So he left,” he nods and sniffs. “Slowly the anger became sadness, a deep, true sadness that almost drowned me. I wanted it to be over with. That was enough pain, and I didn’t want to handle more of that. It was too much. I was truly blinded by self-loathing. I wanted to escape...”

Draco knows exactly how it feels. This man telling them his story could be Draco revisiting that first month. 

“A few days later, he came back. And then, I wasn’t angry anymore. I was devastated and starting to accept that that was it, that I would probably die.” He laughs, licking his lips and rubbing the palms of his hands together. “But then, the little shit took my face in his hands, crying, and told me he loved me, that he didn’t want me to die because he selfishly wanted time to love me properly.”

A sad, sheepish little smile crosses his ragged semblant as he speaks, it makes him look younger.

“Weird as it is, for him, love was bigger than fear. And in the late ‘70s the fear was massive, kid,” he says sadly. “We saw people dying of AIDS every week, checking daily the death notices in newspapers, counting the days as a blessing. We would say before bed: _one more day, one more day_.” His lips thin out in a pained line. “I would ask myself everyday if I would be the next one to succumb to it. I would keep tormenting him about getting tested and always being careful, wearing condoms, keeping track of my viral load...” He laughs softly at the memory. 

Everyone listens to him, rapt. Gay love stories from the ‘70s tend to be sad—they tend to end in death and heartbreak.

“It’s been 26 years now,” Remus says. “He never tested positive. We are still very careful. He is always taking care of me, fussing about my meds and my diet and my exercises and the way I make tea...” 

He laughs at that and Draco feels like he can release the breath he’s been holding. 

“We got to raise an amazing child together. And when I almost died a few months ago, he was devastated, telling me: _you can’t die and leave us behind, don’t you_ dare _die, you idiot_. But he was there by my side every day, repeating to me that I am the love of his life, making me ugly-sob on a hospital bed wearing only a dreadful hospital gown.”

He dries a tear and sniffs, clearing his throat.

Draco feels his body turn soft in the chair. With relief. With the gentle, warm feeling that somehow, someway, this complete stranger with soft hazel eyes has a love story still going on for him.

Even though...

Maybe, after the turbulent waves of anger, maybe there’s still hope for Draco. And even if it’s not Harry, maybe he will find someone to love him somehow, at some point.

“Though, you know,” Remus says, a naughty smirk forming on his lips. “He keeps nagging me about how much he dreams of tasting my cum and how it bloody saddens him that he will never know.”

They all laugh, a bit hysterically, a bit euphoric, a bit high on hope.

There’s this beautiful ringing of pure laughter and it lightens the mood of the room. Remus’ laughter has a deep, rich quality to it that transfixes Draco.

“And I know that once we finish this meeting, he will be waiting for me just outside, with his beautiful long hair and his stupid motorcycle and his battered leather jacket and a ridiculous innuendo on the tip of his tongue...” He smiles at Draco. 

And Draco knows this smile is just for him. 

“Because there’s hope, kid. There will always be hope for love.”

And then Draco cries.

And Mr Dumbledore pats him on the shoulder softly with a knowing smile.

And then Cho talks. 

And then Hugh, and Mark, and Susan. 

And Draco lets his mind float, his body relaxes, and he hopes against hope that there is hope for him. 

He steps outside in a hurry—he doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He feels too vulnerable, raw, naked and cut open for handshakes and small talk. 

He needs a drink and a cigarette. 

And he needs to live. 

He _wants_ to live, at least long enough to try. 

The cold outside shocks him and there’s a light drizzle falling. The cold late November wind whips at his face and hair, startling him out of his thoughts. He looks up and sees an older man on the cobblestones, pressed between a lamppost and a big badass motorcycle. He has long black hair peppered with grey, an old black leather jacket and a cigarette on his lips. 

He looks wonderful. Like the bad boy of an old ‘80s film. 

He seems at ease and distracted, and Draco can’t quite control himself as he walks straight up to this man, this stranger, that somehow now Draco knows too much about. 

The man looks up, throwing the fag on the ground and stepping on it. 

“All right there, kid?” he asks in a melodic voice and Draco half-shivers, half-sobs. 

“I hope I live long enough to be as old and gorgeous as you are,” he babbles stupidly, filled with such emotion, such devotion for this man that never tasted his lover’s cum but also never left... 

And the stranger’s face softens, understanding dawning on his features.

There’s something very familiar in his face. His bright grey eyes look at him with such warmth. Draco can’t quite understand how he started to bond with strangers with such a deep affection like the one blossoming inside his chest right now. 

“That bad, eh?” the man replies, and smiles gently at him. “Pretty sure you will live long enough to be as eccentric and bold as good old Albus,” he cracks a teasing smirk.

Draco sobs and a tear falls from his left eye.

Unannounced, the man moves closer and brings Draco into a strong impromptu hug. His arms close around him, pressing Draco’s wet face against the leather jacket. He smells like cigarettes and men’s aftershave. He rubs circles on Draco’s back and shushes him until Draco’s sobs quiet down.

“Sorry,” Draco mutters, disentangling himself from the man’s embrace.

“That’s alright, kid,” he watches Draco’s face in an earnest way. “Are you going to be okay?”

He seems concerned. And Draco smiles at him, feeling amazed by this human being in front of him; this man with such a big heart that he goes around hugging lost gay strays on the street. 

“I think I will live,” he answers, and laughs a bit at it. “I think _I will live_ ,” he repeats firmly, looking at the man’s eyes and smiling. “Thank you.”

“You take care, son.” He pats his shoulder. “I want to see you old and wrinkled,” he adds jokingly. 

Draco nods with a weak smile, lighting a fag and breathing deeply. 

“Will do, take care,” he says, walking away as the front door of the Centre bursts open and voices ring into the night. 

He takes his Nokia from his pocket and flips it open, dialing Blaise’s number. 

“Hey, are you still going out tonight? I need a drink.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favourite chapter so far. I loved writing it, and I hope you guys enjoyed reading. I think my endless love for Wolfstar was very pronounced, wasn't it? Thank you for all the comments and kudos and encouragements! Maybe drop a line today? I think this chapter rather deserves some love. Draco, my darling, you definitely deserve all the love in the world and many, many years to live and love and find happiness <3
> 
> I wrote a bit about Caio Fernando Abreu (C.F.A.) on Tumblr, the author that I've been using as inspiration for this story, in case anyone would like to know more about him and his story, it's [HERE](https://teacup-tai.tumblr.com/post/637310190590492672/dragons-dont-know-paradise-drarry-e-1125). <3
> 
> Much love your way, my darlings! x tai.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PLEASE READ**  
>  _Pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP) is an HIV prevention strategy where HIV-negative individuals take anti-HIV medications before coming into contact with HIV to reduce their risk of becoming infected. The medications work to prevent HIV from establishing infection inside the body._ It was only released in 2012, so PrEP is not an option in the story as it's happening in 2004. You can get more information about PrEP, PEP and medications [here](https://prepfacts.org/prep/the-basics/) . Felt relevant to mention this because of the Sirius x Remus sexual mentions in last chap.
> 
> Also, I have NO WORDS to thank everyone commenting and cheering me up with this story. You guys are bloody amazing. I got really nice feedback on the sirem/wolfstar bit and people asking for prequels! I would love to write more about them in this universe or even add extra wolfstar scenes in a side fic, after finishing writing Dragons. So if you would like that, subscribe to this fic and to my dashboard and I'll let you know when I create a collection for new Dragons's universe fics with wolfstar delight. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)
> 
> prompt: colourful lights

* * *

_ “I get tired of the love I feel, in an enormous effort that gradually becomes a kind of modest joy, late at night,  
_ _ alone in this apartment in the middle of a city scarce of dragons.” C.F.A. _

* * *

Draco is sprawled on the sofa, his feet resting on Blaise’s lap. They sip at their beers in silence. Draco still feels too raw after the HIV-positive support group meeting, like his insides were scrubbed too harshly. The aftermath of inhaling too much seawater and being scratched by grainy sand and rocks on the shore. As if he were a survivor of a shipwreck.

Blaise sighs loudly and shakes his head.

“That is one of the most moving stories I’ve ever heard,” he says in his melodic voice and Draco watches him—watches his high cheekbones, his smooth chocolate skin, the way his full lips move around the rim of the bottle and nods quietly. 

“Right?” Draco smiles. He thought Blaise would like to know the story Remus shared today at the meeting. “Gave me hope.”

Blaise’s eyes focus on him now, his dark irises shining like the sea at night.

“You deserve nice things, Draco,” Blaise says softly, his left hand holding the arch of Draco’s right foot. “When was the last time you let yourself enjoy your life a bit?”

Draco sighs at that. He doesn’t want to talk about it again. Blaise has been nagging him for months now, trying to make him go back to the scene: the nightclubs, the parties, the pub crawls with their friends.

He shrugs. 

“You know the answer.”

“Draco...” and there it is: the offer he has been giving Draco so freely every now and then. 

The way Blaise looks at him in moments like this makes Draco’s skin tingle. It’s intense and full of meaning; promises of debauchery and pleasure. 

“You know I am not in love with you, like the guys from your group. But I wish I was, then I could give you what you deserve.”

“Stop that,” he chastises. 

“No, Draco, I won’t.” Blaise moves, his hand touching Draco’s shin and moving up, daring, strong, stopping gently above his knee in the inner side of his thigh. Blaise’s fingers knead the jeans, the flesh and muscles underneath it. 

Draco sighs, letting his head lean back on the sofa.

It’s been too long since he last was touched by someone else.

“I could lend you a friendly hand, just like old times,” Blaise mutters in that deep, sensual voice.

Draco closes his eyes, because Blaise can be so convincing when he wants, and his sinful fingers are drawing torturous circles over Draco’s leg. He craves so much for another person’s touch. 

But he doesn’t want to give in. Not like this. Not now. Not with Blaise. Not when his entire body craves bright green eyes, and goofy smile, and olive skin, and wild hair.

“It wouldn’t be the first time...” Blaise keeps up his game, his offer, his voice going insanely husky. They’ve always had a very intense chemistry, Draco can’t deny it. 

“Don’t—”

“It would be like being 16 again,” Blaise presses, and as he speaks, he moves closer, his lips touching the soft skin of Draco’s temple. “But now I am much more experienced...”

Draco whines, a bit desperate, a bit needy.

_ God _ , but he misses it. The intimacy, the touches, the sex. He feels starved and lightheaded.

Taking a harsh breath, he disentangles himself from Blaise’s touch before he gives in. His body is already responding to the stimulation and once Draco stands up, his stupid cock is straining shamelessly against the front of his jeans, like a bloody teenager. 

Blaise laughs at him, taking in his loss of composure, sipping on his beer. 

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” he grins, full of himself, nodding towards Draco’s erection. 

“I hate you,” Draco says, walking into the tiny kitchen and getting them another beer from the fridge.

His mind is a mess. 

He lets the cold from the open fridge sober him up until the hazy lust cottoning his brain starts dissolving. It’s not that Draco doesn’t find Blaise attractive; actually he does, and they had plenty of sex when they were young or when they were very drunk and high at whatever crazy party last year before Blaise started dating that Antony boy—that ended in heartbreak a few months later. 

Draco trusts Blaise enough to let go if needed. He would trust Blaise with his body with his eyes closed, knowing he would be safe under his best friend’s care.

But now... Now it feels pointless.

He doesn’t want meaninglessness in his life anymore. 

He wants to live. But he wants to live meaningful experiences. 

Obviously, his stupid touch-starved body thinks otherwise. Even his brain is providing him with the most ridiculously sexy images. What if Blaise pressed behind him right now, pushing his boundaries, shushing his overthinking mind, his arms caging him against the fridge door... plump lips against the shell of his ear muttering naughty propositions... his skillful fingers playing with Draco’s pink niples, a strong hand sliding down his torso...

“Fuck my life...” he mutters, closing the fridge door a bit harshly and walking back into the living room. “Here.” He hands Blaise a bottle.

“Draco...” and now Blaise is staring at him, taking in his whole body with his deep gaze. “Listen, it’s okay if you don’t want to. I get it, but you look, well...” He gives Draco a pointed look, letting his legs fall apart to show a growing bulge of his own. “You still look sexy as hell, even all skinny and sorrowful. Don’t ever think otherwise.” He says firmly and Draco shivers, staring at Blaise’s tented trousers.

Draco did that to him. And Blaise knows him too well, knows his self-loathing and his shame. Blaise knows Draco from the inside out. And even though... even though he knows, he’s turned on with the mere possibility of Draco giving in.

“You look insanely hot, all wanting eyes and repressed desire; any man would be glad to have you,” Blaise says, and takes a deep calming breath. “You need to get laid, old man.”

“Fuck off.” It comes out weakly.

The idea of him still looking attractive is overwhelming.

Blaise shakes his head.

“So, I get the fears, the extra safety and the fact that maybe we are too close to fool around with no strings attached. But what is holding you back in general?”

Draco sits on the rug and starts rolling a fag with trembling fingers. 

“Harry,” he admits.

“What, the online babe?” Blaise sounds surprised. “You’re still talking to him?”

Draco nods, licking the ends of the thin paper and rolling it around the tobacco.

“This is getting serious,” Blaise warns and moves to sit on the floor as well, going for the tobacco; erection completely forgotten. “I think I need a stronger drink for this.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Have you told him?”

“No.”

“Draco, not even about—?”

“No, Blaise, I haven’t told him anything. And it’s bad. Because... I really like him. But how am I supposed to tell him... all of it? It’s too many lies.”

“Are you still using the—?”

“Yes,” Draco cuts him mid sentence feeling raw, exposed, judged.

“I cannot believe you,” Blaise repproches. “You’ve been talking to this Harry for what, two months now? You need to tell him!” 

“I know, okay?!” Draco wants to scream. He feels a strange wave of hostility growing inside of him. “You think I don’t know that?” he asks angrily.

Blaise crawls to the cabinet under the telly and grabs a bottle of whisky. He opens it in a swift move and takes a long draw.

“Here, drink,” he commands. 

And they pass the bottle back and forth between them, taking long swigs.

“What should I do?” Draco asks, defeated.

“You are going to come clean to him.” Blaise decides.

“How am I supposed to do that? He is going to hate me!”

Blaise puts the bottle down on top of the coffee table. He seems suddenly serious, looking dead in Draco’s eyes. 

“Draco, this man has seen you for who you are.” Draco looks down at his hands. “Look at me,” Blaise commands and Draco looks up. “If he can’t handle the truth, it's because he doesn’t deserve you.” He says harshly. “You deserve a fucking love story like the one you told me today, and if Harry is not the right guy, I am pretty sure there is someone out there who will be thrilled to be the love of your life.”

Draco softens at that. Blaise’s eyes stare at him with such conviction. 

“Blaise...” he whispers brokenly. 

He feels shaken. 

He feels exactly the same way he felt after the meeting earlier today, that maybe life has a plan for him. Maybe he deserves to find love—maybe there’s hope. And if it’s not Harry, then... Then that’s a pity, but life goes on.

“Okay,” he mutters, feeling dizzy and disconnected from his body.

A wave of emotion washes through him, like all life-changing decision-making does. He feels Blaise’s conviction flowing through him like a balm. As if he needed Blaise to tell him it’s time.

And maybe it is.

He runs trembling fingers through his hair and nods.

Draco feels on the verge of something he can’t describe, as if a wheel turned inside his chest and connected broken pieces back together. Like unlocking a lock. It feels like a kind of enlightenment and it shakes him whole. 

“Okay, you are right. It’s time.” 

And, suddenly, it’s decided. He is taking the leap. He’s jumping into the abyss. He is not looking down and not looking back. He is just letting his body free fall into the mouth of uncertainty.

“I am going to write him an email right now and then...” He takes a deep shaky, crazed breath, that sounds like a gasp. “Then we’re getting completely shit-faced.”

“That’s my boy!” Blaise whistles as Draco stands up on shaky legs and walks into his bedroom with blind certainty to turn on his computer. 

-

_ Harry, I haven’t been honest with you. _

_ See, I have no idea how or where to start. But I lied. I lied so much that, at some point, I lost track of how to tell you the truth.  _

_ I am sorry. I really am. _

_ I think it’s time I come clean. _

-

Pansy and Theo join them in the second pub. They are proceeding to get severely plastered. The night is cold and the lights shine bright from the lampposts. They stumble around laughing and joking, and Draco feels free and wild. 

He feels bloody alive, as though a huge weight has been lifted from his bony shoulders.

Draco tells Theo about the email while they order drinks in this new club Pansy dragged them to. And Theo claps at his back strong enough to hurt, with a satisfied smile on his face. They do shots with Pansy and she complains about her high heels. There’s smudges of dark makeup around her eyes, where it mixed with sweat. 

She looks wonderful like that. She seems so happy to see him out. He doesn't remember the last time they all went partying together and had a good night out. A proper one. Pansy hugs him and kisses his heated cheeks. 

The music is loud and the lights flash different colours in a dizzying rhythm. Blaise presses against his back, dancing, touching, teasing, and Draco lets his head fall back against his shoulder, feeling his strong hands on his hips, pulling him back and pressing him forward. He holds the pint in one hand and grabs Pansy’s waist with the other. Theo is at the bar buying more tequila shots.

The club smells like alcohol and sweat and his mind floats with the music, the heat, the alcohol. 

He feels protected, pressed tight between his best friends. There’s this blond man staring at them from the bar, and Draco decides to put up a show, just for fun. He rubs his arse against Blaise’s crotch, feels Blaises’s fingers grasp his hips harder, pressing right back against him. He chuckles low and dark in Draco’s ear, with a press of lips against his jaw.

“Wretch,” he says and Draco laughs. 

And then Theo is back with their shots and they form a small circle, toast and and drink up.

It’s a frenzied feeling he’d forgotten all about. 

His mind is foggy and he feels drunk and liberated. As if real life and real problems couldn’t catch him here, on this colourful dance floor, while Pansy shouts and dances, her arms up and beer almost falling from her fingers. 

He laughs. Wild. Free. Delighted. He feels amazing. The blond man is not staring at them anymore but Draco doesn't care. Even if no one is watching him, he feels like the main character of his own life-story, and the dance floor is his stage. So he dances.

Blinking lights. Heated bodies. Friends surrounding him. 

He dances to the loud beat. Lets his hand slide over his chest and his neck. He feels intoxicated. 

He feels alive. 

He  _ is _ alive.

And then Pansy moves to the side, laughing at something Blaise is telling her and from the other side of the dance floor Draco sees him. 

He sees Harry. 

_ His _ Harry.

With his wild wavy hair, and his bright emerald green eyes—without glasses they look even bigger—he’s wearing a tight white t-shirt and a big smile plastered on his face.

Draco can’t breathe. 

He feels like he is suffocating.

He feels paralysed on the spot. 

He can’t hear the music or whatever it is Theo is saying. 

Fight or flight response not working. 

He feels frozen under the intense weight of those green eyes when they lock on him.

He feels frighteningly exposed.

Because Harry is staring right back at him, and it feels like an explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) and here's a cliffie :D would love to hear from you all! <3 love, tai.
> 
> should I apologise?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised Lis it wouldn't take long, so here it is. 
> 
> **BUCKLE UP FOR COLLISION**
> 
> also, thank you very much for your kind support, babies! <3
> 
> prompt: the city at night

* * *

_"Only those who have had a dragon at home can know how the house looks deserted after he leaves. Dunes, glaciers, steppes." C.F.A._

* * *

Harry is halfway drunk when he stumbles into the new club in the city centre with Luna, Ginny, Ron and Hermione. Inside it is hot and loud and dark and colourful. It takes a while to adjust to it and Ginny is laughing at something and screaming at Ron to bring her a pint of Guinness when his eyes, his stupid nearsighted eyes, focus on the other side of the dance floor. 

And there, in the middle of the dancing masses, is Draco. 

But Harry is drunk and not really sure, so he squints a bit and looks straight at the man dancing with a small brunette. 

And Draco looks back. 

_ It’s him _ .

His heart beats frantically and he feels drunk and high and numb, like he’s free-falling, and he thinks he will pass out. He gasps stupidly, licking his lips, trying to control the crazy rollercoaster of emotions inside his chest. 

Luna pulls his arm, asking something but he doesn’t hear; he only stares, mindlessly, at Draco. He looks so gorgeous and free, like a demigod surrounded by mere humans. 

“What?” He turns to Luna.

“I am asking if you wanna dance?” She smiles up at him, her hair in a wild hairdo on the top of her head, a big, bright orange flower in the midst of the blond mass. 

“Draco is here!” he shouts back, looking at the dance floor and pointing him out.

Her bright blue eyes follow his finger and she smiles grandly.

“Go talk to him!” She encourages, clapping her hand and grinning. “I’ll go with you if you want.”

Ginny and Hermione are getting a table in the far corner of the club and Harry feels his palms go clammy with cold sweat. He feels hot and cold, looks up and sees that Draco is still there—their eyes lock again and Harry bites down on his bottom lip and nods.

Draco nods back and smiles invitingly. 

“Yeah, come with me.”

And Luna does. She follows him like a guardian angel and Harry feels like each step closer is taking him into the unknown. He feels terrified and bold at the same time. He is taking the leap here, but Draco is watching him with hooded eyes and taking a sip of his pint. 

The rhythm of the music speeds up and he feels stupid; he is not sure if it is the music of if it is his heartbeats pummelling his ribcage like a drummer. 

He feels so drunk with hope he may pass out. 

But he braves the masses, pressing on, moving between hot bodies pressing against him. It’s insanely hot and he feels like there is not enough air in the room for Draco and him to breathe. 

They are so close. 

So  _ insanely _ close. 

Luna says some cheery words and here he is. Standing in front of Draco. And he is bloody gorgeous, all high cheekbones and full lips. The lights around him makes him look otherworldly.

“I can’t believe you are here,” Harry says, emotion taking the best of him, his own voice sounding strange and dreamy. 

“Me neither, love,” Draco replies, his voice deep with a bit of a drunken slur, his eyes staring back with desire.

Harry laughs. This is surreal. He ruffles his hair nervously, feeling giddy, feeling so simple.

_ Oh my god,  _ Draco is here in front of him in this ridiculously loud, packed club. Harry is thankful for giving in to going out with his friends for once.

Harry simply can’t believe it; he feels like he may explode. But they are standing there awkwardly, staring at each other. His eyes fall to Draco’s lips. God, he wants to touch him. To taste him, to kiss him.

_ Something _ , he thinks,  _ do something! Say something! _

“Do you want to have a drink?” he asks, finally, and Draco smiles, sinfully, licking his lips and looking at Harry’s mouth. 

_ Jesus, _ he’s so hot.

“Sure, if you need that first,” Draco agrees, all sultry eyes and plump lips, and Harry feels intoxicated with his voice, with the way he smiles at him, with such hunger in his eyes. 

In those deep black eyes. 

“I am having a hard time believing I am standing here in front of you for real,” Harry admits, his voice a bit shaky, feeling like the most impish creature in the world.

But Draco looks even better in person. His skin has a dark chocolate quality to it that shines under the colourful lights. 

“Do you want me to make it real, darling?” Draco asks a bit out of character, and he brings his hand to Harry’s body, his long, strong fingers touching Harry’s shirt. 

Right on top of his heart.

Draco sounds very drunk, and so very different from what Harry expected. But Draco is touching him,  _ touching _ him for real. And even though the drunkenness is making it less than what Harry expected he would feel like once talking to Draco in real life, Harry’s heartbeat is rocketing inside his chest. 

“Draco,” he gasps, moving his hand up and grasping Draco’s fingers, holding it against his chest.

“What?” Draco asks, and his eyebrows fly up, furling his brow, fingers holding Harry's hand firm.

“It’s so loud here,” Harry laughs a bit, feeling drunk himself. Oh  _ good lord _ , this is not how he imagined it. 

He takes a bold step forward, his chest colliding with Draco’s solid chest and pressing his lips against Draco’s ear, inhaling him, smelling cigarette and sweat and expensive aftershave. 

“Draco, let’s get out of here.”

The hand in his chest tenses up, pushing him back softly and those deep black eyes screen his face, recognition dawning on his face and he looks suddenly disconcerted, worried.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks, his hand flying up to cup Draco’s cheek. “Is everything okay, Draco? Did I say something wrong?”

“Harry?” Draco asks, and he sounds torn. He sounds confused.

“Yes, what’s going on?” Harry feels agitated, concerned even. 

What  _ the fuck _ is going on? 

“Blaise,” a voice breaks through their bubble. Harry looks to his side. “Blaise, stand back, man,” the man is saying and glaring at Draco, his face scrunched up and worried. 

Draco steps back and looks between the other man and Harry. 

And Harry wants to die, because now—well, now it makes sense that Draco was slowly disengaging, because he probably has a new boyfriend and just didn’t know how to let Harry down easy. 

He feels a sharp pang in his chest. 

“Blaise?” Harry asks, feeling confused, his voice sounding broken to his own ears. “What?”

Why is this man calling Draco ‘Blaise’?

“Harry—” Draco starts. “Jesus Christ, I  _ cannot _ believe it!” he sighs. “I really thought I was going to get laid,” Draco presses a hand hard against his eyes. 

“What?!” Harry is so confused. And Draco sounds very out of character right now. 

“Look, this is a misunderstanding,” the other man is saying and looking at Harry in earnest. 

“I am not Draco,” says Draco.

“WHAT?!” Harry feels like the world is crashing down on him. He fews asphyxiated.

“What’s going on, Harry?” Luna steps in, her big dreamy eyes jumping from one to another, watching the three men curiously. 

“I’m  _ not _ Draco,” Draco repeats, now looking at Luna. “My name is Blaise.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” she sounds pleased. “Yes, you look more like a Blaise. I told Harry you didn’t look like a Draco.”

“Wait, what?” Draco-Blaise asks, looking at Luna as if she is a lunatic. 

“I mean—”

But then the third man is touching Harry’s shoulder and Harry is looking at his pale face, feeling dizzy. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Harry asks him, feeling lost. 

“You just missed Draco, he just left,” the bloke explains. 

“Are they twins?” Harry asks, feeling insane, wracking his mind to try to remind himself if at some point Draco mentioned a brother. He doesn’t know what he feels, but he is suddenly nauseous. 

“No, but Draco sent you Blaise’s pictures,” the man explains. He looks concerned, his blue eyes gently watching Harry’s reactions. 

“He  _ WHAT _ ?!”

And the world comes crashing down on him. He sees white—he’s angry. Now he’s really angry.

“Where is  _ Draco _ ?” Harry asks quickly and the man nods to the back door.

“He ran when he saw you,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

So Harry runs; he disentagles from them and moves through the horde of people, angrily, violent, pushing people out of his way and pressing forward, like an arrow moving against the tide. 

He gasps, running out the door and into the cold dark night.

It’s raining and his t-shirt gets soaked fast. He feels the chill seep into his bones; he is not sure if the rain is this cold or if it’s his heart that just froze inside his chest. 

_ Draco lied. _

_ Jesus _ , Draco lied to him and sent him pictures of someone else.

He sees a thin blond man a block down with a petite brunette, the same brunette he saw dancing on the dance floor with Draco-Blaise inside. 

His heart speeds up and certainty takes over. 

_ This _ is Draco. 

He is soaking wet and shivering, blond hair plastered to his forehead. Tall, thin, pale. 

Harry hears the car before he sees it, and the cab parks in front of the blond man and the small woman. 

“DRACO!” Harry screams, and his voice rings into the night like a siren. So loud and shattered and hurt. 

The woman is opening the cab door.

But Draco looks up. 

And there he really is. 

He looks shattered.

Their eyes lock and Harry feels a pull, starting to walk blindly in his direction.

Draco’s face scrunches up and Harry almost thinks he hears the sob escaping from his lips, or maybe he was saying Harry’s name.

“Draco!” he calls out again, starting to run towards him, in the freezing rain, hoping against hope that he will stay. “DRACO, WAIT!”

And then he actually hears Draco saying it, because he does, just before he jumps into the cab and closes the door in a hurry.

“I’m sorry,” Draco says, and this voice, this broken, ragged voice sounds real. 

Sounds like the Draco he has been speaking to for more than two months.

He sounds exactly how Harry imagined he would.

And then the black cab takes off, taking Draco away from him. And Harry wants to punch things. He can't breathe, he can’t think; his chest hurts and his legs stop working mid-step and he falls onto his knees hard and cries out.

“Fuck!” Harry shouts, fisting his wet t-shirt over his heart. “FUCK!!”

He bloody well cries and screams and people watch him. But he doesn’t care. He can only feel this extreme pain inside his chest, constricting like a vice. And Harry thinks he may faint from the pain, because it feels like it’s lacerating him from inside out. 

But he just sobs on the pavement, defeated, lost, broken, and the rain pours over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _the-monster-of-plot-twist_ makes an appearance...
> 
> er... *looks around*... are you mad at _me_? at draco? at life? at the whole universe? I'm a bit nervous about this chapter *laughs stupidly*
> 
> poor harry. I am sorry, folks. 
> 
> (nah, I'm not really *smiles devilishly* :P I write angst, folks, we should have expected I would drag our limp bodies over the nail-bed before Good Things happen. but, hey, they will happen. Pretty Soon.)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: torn

* * *

_"A dragon comes and goes so that you learn the pain of not having him, after you have fed the illusion of possessing him". C.F.A._

* * *

His chest feels like it was ripped open with a butcher’s knife. It feels like his worst nightmare. He feels drugged and trapt in agony. He can’t breathe—he feels like he’s gone mad. 

Someone gathered him up harshly and back to the club entrance. And he’s panting under the marquise while people talk fast around him. 

Everything is a blur and he can’t hear what they’re saying. At some point, someone tried to touch his shoulder and he is pretty sure he pushed them away strongly enough to hurt and showed his teeth like a rabid wolf. 

“Harry?”

He blinks.

“Harry, look at me,” the voice commands. 

He blinks again, trying to erase the fog inside his mind.

He is upset, angry, and in pain. 

He can’t believe it. Draco  _ lied _ to him.

All this time he has been lying.

Oh my  _ god _ .

Sirius was right all along. 

“Harry James Potter, look at me!”

His vision focuses at such a velocity that he goes dizzy. And Hermione’s face swims in front of him. Her curls are wild and wet, her brown skin flushed, her dark eyes sharp on him. 

“Here, take a sip of water,” she demands, pressing a bottle in his hands and he complies. 

“What the  _ fuck? _ !” Ron is saying, angrily from his right and talking fast to someone. 

The voices come to him now insanely loud around him and he drinks up, trying to calm down. 

“You’re telling me your creepy friend has been lying to Harry all this time?” Ron roars and Harry looks up. 

Ron is shouting at Draco—no,  _ Blaise _ . He is shouting at Blaise and Blaise is squaring his shoulders and looking threateningly at Ron. 

“You call him creep again and you’ll wake up in a hospital bed tomorrow!” he shouts back, fists balling by his sides, shooting daggers with his eyes. 

“What is it you call people who lie about their identity on the internet for months, then, eh?” Ron spits back, his broad shoulders tense.

“Look—” the other man, the pale one with light brown hair and blue eyes, moves between them “—we get you’re feeling angry with Draco. But he has his reasons,” he says, voice calm, patient even. “His reasons are very valid,” he finishes firmly.

Harry looks at them, then at Mione in front of him. 

“Where’s Luna and Ginny?” he rasps out, voice trembling still.

“They went in to get our coats,” Hermione explains and touches his shoulder lightly. “Are you feeling a bit better?”

He snorts.

“No,” he says, feeling cracked and confused and terrible. Harry turns to the other three men and speaks louder. “Can you explain what the fuck is going on? I am having a really hard time trying to understand here—I feel like I’m going crazy.”

Draco—Blaise.  _ This is Blaise, Harry _ , he reminds himself—turns around sharply, face impenetrable, and stares at Harry. 

“Draco was feeling shit, then he started talking to you, and he used one of my pictures because he wasn’t feeling his best at that moment. And then you two proceeded to fall in love and he had no idea where to fucking start, that’s what happened.” He sounds angry, and possessed, the sexy drunk slur gone, his voice sounding cold and sharp now.

“We fell in love?” Harry asks brokenly.

“Well, you tell  _ me _ , Harry,” Blaise retorts, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Over his muscled chest. And Harry notices Blaise’s shirt is wet and clinging to his toned body—the body Harry fantasised about, the body Harry ached to touch and bite and fuck and kiss and love for months on end. He realises Blaise was the one who lifted him from the pavement and out of the rain.

Harry blinks, feeling torn. He’s having a hard time reconciling the Draco in his mind with this Real Blaise in front of him. 

This gorgeous body that  _ is not _ Draco’s.

“Fuck!” Harry swears confused, pressing a hand over his eyes. “He’s in love with me,” he affirms shakily.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Blaise responds.

“Don’t talk to him like this, you fucker,” Ron warns, his voice violent.

“It’s okay, Ron,” Harry says. “Why didn’t he say something?” he asks, still having a hard time understanding. 

“Look,” says the pale man with blue eyes. “You met when Draco was in really bad shape. He didn’t imagine things would escalate like this.”

“I know,” Harry says. “Who are you?” he asks. 

“I’m Theo.”

“Theo...Draco talked about you, about the walks in the park,” he babbles.

“Yes, that’s me,” Theo replies softly. 

Theo has this weird softness to him. 

“You helped him,” Harry mutters.

“No, Harry,  _ you _ helped him. On his worst days, you were the one there to talk to him,” Theo says kindly. 

And it gets Harry. It punches him in the stomach, and spreads warmth through his pained, angry chest. Because Draco talked about him to his friends and his friends know Harry helped him. 

“He told me about the depression, the suicidal ideation—”

“Suicidal WHAT?” Blaise roars, cutting Harry mid sentence. 

Theo holds Blaise by the arm. 

“Calm down, Blaise.”

“I didn’t know—I—What the fuck, Theo?” He sounds angry.

“He wasn’t going to do anything bad,” Harry affirms. “He just felt really low.”

And it’s stupid, that he is here trying to calm Draco’s friend down and siding with Draco.

It’s weird to see that he knew more about what Draco was going through than his own friends.

“I need a drink,” Blaise says, exasperated, hand moving over his short hair in despair. “I need a very hard fuck! I’m off!” He looks at Theo, disheveled. “I am going to fucking kill Draco.”

“No you’re not. You’re going to get yourself together because he is probably in the depths of despair right now,” Theo says firmly. 

And Harry trembles at this, at the idea that Draco is also probably hurt and scared. 

He feels a pang in his chest. He wants to be with Draco right this minute and talk to him and understand him, but at the same time he wants to punch him, bruise his stupid pale face and hurt him just as much as Harry is hurting. 

“Where is he?”

“None of your business!” Blaise says possessed. “Look, I get that you are upset, you have the right to be; but if you can’t come out of your selfishness, you really don’t deserve Draco. And if that’s the case, you better not get close to him EVER again, do you hear me?” he threatens.

Ron steps up, Theo puts an arm between them.

“Blaise, that’s enough.”

“I’ll see myself out,” Blaise spits. 

He starts walking and Theo goes with him, pulling him closer by the arm. 

“You are in no shape, Blaise, c’mon, let’s go to mine.”

“NO THEODORE!” he shouts. “HE LIED TO ME, OKAY!” Blaise sounds hurt and angry and Harry watches, mesmerised, as his beautiful face contorts into a painful expression. “He thought of suicide, Theo?” His voice cracks with the words. “He told some stranger about it, but he didn’t tell me?”

“He didn’t tell me either, Blaise,” Theo answers. “I knew because I’ve been there, done that, and these kinds of thoughts are common when... you know, when your life is in shambles.”

Blaise spits angrily on the pavement, hands holding firm on his own hips, head falling forward. 

“I’m out man, if I see Draco now I’m going to break his stupidly perfect nose,” Blaise says, shaking his head. “I want to forget this shit ever happened.” His left hand waves in Harry’s direction. “He was having  _ fun _ , Theo, he was  _ so happy _ . Goddamit, I haven’t seen him this happy for what, five months, Theo?” Blaise sniffs, body tense, eyes on his friend, and Harry can’t stop eavesdropping and gleaning all this information about Draco. “He was dancing and laughing and he was even being flirty.” He laughs and the sound is wet and shaky. 

“Yes, Blaise, I saw it too.” Theo smiles softly, his eyes gentle on his friend’s face. “Wild and free, like the good old days. I know.”

“This is going to break him again, Theo,” and then Blaise sobs. “He fucking deserves better!” He is gasping and shouting now, his face wet with tears. “He deserves to be loved and to be happy and to fuck and dance and flirt! This is so unfair, man!”

Blaise’s shoulders shake and Theo presses a hand on his arm, then loops it around him. 

“He does, of course he does. Draco deserves the world,” Theo nods and takes a step back. “Let’s go Blaise, it’s going to be okay. We will be there for him. We won’t let him crash too hard, all right? Now, let’s get you home.”

Harry feels his eyes blur, hot tears falling down his cheeks. 

It pains him to hear how angry and scared Blaise is. How protective he feels about Draco. How he thinks this situation is going to break Draco again. 

Draco was having fun, after so many months, he was happy enjoying his friends. And then Harry was there and destroyed everything. 

Harry feels torn. He feels angry and sad and guilty. 

He knows he hasn’t done anything wrong but it feels wrong; the idea of breaking Draco feels terrible. 

It feels like his insides are splitting open and a mix of emotions he doesn’t know how to catalogue are surfacing inside his chest. 

He sees the two men stopping a cab and he feels empty, as if Draco is going away again with them. As if their only real connection is these two friends, concerned and torn about Draco’s wellbeing. 

It’s the thing they have in common. 

Draco’s wellbeing. 

“ _ I’m sorry _ ,” Draco’s voice resonates in his mind. The cab takes off and Harry realises he should have asked them for Draco’s phone number. 

Harry realises that the anger is diluting inside his chest and mixing up with the weird feeling of loss. He feels like he will never have the chance to see Draco again and he feels lonely and cold and void.

As if he had just lost something important, too important. That it was broken beyond repair.

He steps into the cold rain again. Lets it wash him, numbness taking over him. 

_ Shit _ , he wants to sleep and never wake up again. 

Ron is calling him, and he hears the club’s door opening and Luna’s and Ginny’s voices. He stretches his hand towards the street lane, looks back at his friends and smiles sadly. 

“I’ll go home. I need to be alone,” he says, and a black cab slows down and stops in front of him. 

He jumps in and tells his address to the diver. He doesn’t recognise his own voice. 

He feels empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the lovely comments! you are all too kind to me. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! x tai


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folks, you are killing me with love! Thank you for the comments! I hope you enjoy this one!
> 
> Warning: Pansy takes no bullshit.
> 
> prompt: woollen pullover

* * *

_"The saddest thing (after the departure of a dragon):  
_ _never again any desire to be happy within us anymore, even if that happiness leaves us with a racing heart,  
damp hands, bright eyes and that hunger unable to swallow anything." C.F.A._

* * *

“Draco, are you okay?” 

Pansy’s voice sounds muffled from the other side of the door, but Draco can’t bring himself to stand up and open it, or to even voice a response. He feels drained. 

She knocks softly against the bathroom door. 

“Draco...” she tries again. 

He closes his eyes and feels more tears slide over his heated cheeks. He has been crying ever since he got in the cab and his eyes are burning, exhausted.

“Look, I’m going to open the door,” she warns and turns the handle slowly. 

He has no locks on any of the doors inside the flat, only on the front door. Pansy made sure of getting rid of them in the beginning, because she was terrified of him trying something ‘mad’, as she said. After the first weeks—after Blaise found him lying in his own vomit—she moved in to sleep on his couch for two long weeks, like the good nurse that she is. 

Pansy is like this. She cares, but she is fierce. Very unlike Theo’s softness and Blaise’s attempts at debauched humour. Pansy takes no shit. She commands, she decides, she bosses him around. It had always been like this. 

The soft light of the living room enters the bathroom as she opens the door completely and leans against the doorjamb. 

“Hey,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, making the dark green woolen pullover she took from Draco’s wardrobe lift over her milk-white legs, showing straight long bruises and rope burns on the top bit of her thighs. Draco doesn't want to think about what kind of weird shit she’s been into lately. 

He looks down at her feet, clad in mismatched woolen socks that come halfway up her calves. Draco feels warm, seeing her wearing his clothes. It’s a tender feeling of closeness that wraps slowly around him.

“I made tea,” she says, smiling at him. Her face is free of makeup and her short bob hair is tucked behind her ears. “Come on.”

She observes him sitting on the floor of the tiled bathroom in his soft pyjamas. The room is still warm with shower steam, the air thick. 

He sobs suddenly and she moves closer, squatting by his side. 

“I’m here.” Pansy caresses his damp hair, moving it out of his eyes.

“I fucked up,” he whispers darkly. His mouth tastes like ash—he is so scared. 

“Yes you did, but now you need tea,” she affirms. 

He likes how no-nonsense she is around him. Obviously soft when needed, but also steely, not letting herself spiral into his self-hate and misery. It normally makes him snap out of it faster.

“Up!” she commands and helps him stand. 

They walk slowly towards the sofa and he lets his body plummet onto it. Pansy busies herself bringing the tea mugs from the small kitchen, while he buries his face in a tissue. 

“Here, drink up.”

He holds the mug between his hands, letting the heat of the tea and the porcelain make his fingers tingle. 

“I fucked up,” he mumbles again.

“So you’ve said.” She sighs. “Drink your tea, Draco.”

Her stern voice makes him feel small and childish. He is pretty sure this is the voice she uses during her long late night shifts at the hospital. She must be a damn fine nurse. 

He sips on his tea; it’s sweet and milky, with a hint of clove. It’s really calming.

“Listen, you did choose poorly.” Pansy’s dark eyes watch him like a hawk. “And I won’t say I’m not upset with you. I am. You didn’t tell me you sent Blaise’s pictures to your Harry, and both of us know why you chose to keep this bit of information from me.”

Draco sighs and drinks more, not feeling like interrupting her while she scolds him. 

“You told Blaise and Theo, but not  _ me _ . Because they would mollycoddle you and go ‘ _ oh poor Draco, he’s so fragile right now _ ’. But I wouldn’t. You didn’t tell me because you knew, Draco, you knew deep down your heart it was wrong.”

He nodded, feeling the pressure on his chest, heavy over his shoulders. Pansy is right. He didn’t want her calling him out on his bulshite. 

So many lies. He’s such a coward,  _ for god’s sake! _ He doesn’t have a brave bone in his whole body.

“I know,” he whispers. “I didn’t think...I thought I would feel brave enough but, it was too late...”

“You lied to him for months. This is serious, Draco.”

He looks up to Pansy and she looks serious. Her eyes are clear of any drunkenness; now, she’s all business. 

“Look, I am telling you this straight, because someone needs to. You need to understand his part. We don’t know how he will react, and I just want to prepare you for the worst. Let’s just hope he is a better person than I am, because I would tell you to fuck right off.”

He starts sobbing again, his shoulders trembling. He sets the tea on the coffee table and curls in on himself on the sofa, face resting against his knees, arms holding his chest tightly. 

“He won’t forgive me now,” he gasps, feeling Pansy’s hand on his back, drawing big, calming circles. 

“I’m sorry, Draco,” she whispers softly.

“M-me too,” he sniffs. 

It’s terrible. 

She’s right. What he did was not fair to Harry—trust Pansy to give you the round trip to Guilt City. His whole body shakes with his sobs and Harry’s face appears in his mind, soaked with rain, looking furious and sad at the same time, shouting Draco’s name, asking him to wait. 

Draco is just such a fucking coward.

He hates it. Hates it so much. 

He was so happy. He was dancing and drinking and flirting. 

He was proud of having sent the—

“The email!” He straightens out on the sofa. “Oh my god, the email!”

“What are you talking about, Draco?”

“I sent Harry an email before we went out,” he explains.

“What was in the email?” She sounds surprised.

“I told him about the pictures. I told him the truth.”

His grey eyes are huge and round as saucers, staring at Pansy.

“That’s good,” she smiles. “Draco, this is really good. Maybe he’ll reconsider.”

Draco shakes—he’s not sure. Because now Harry already knows and he was late in telling him the truth and he is caged in the tangle of his own lies. 

“He won’t, Pansy. I was an arse.”

She pouts, looks around, picks up his tea and gives it to him. 

“Drink up,” Pansy commands and he goes about drinking. “Look, Draco, at least you tried. Now I think you should give him space, let him sort out his feelings, give him time to reply at his own pace. He must have a lot to think about.”

“He probably hates me,” he whines. And the pang inside his chest is strong.

Harry must hate him. 

Harry spent months thinking Draco was Blaise, that Draco was gorgeous and sexy and healthy. They spent time having cybersex and Harry had probably imagined Blaise’s body in various positions and numerous ways. 

It was bad. 

It was  _ really _ bad. 

“See, Draco. I get this has been very hard for you. And I’m really proud that you’re getting the help you need now.” She takes a deep breath. “I know you had your reasons, and that if this goes badly, you’ll regret even your good reasons. But I think you need to face the truth now, and the truth is that this is no longer in your hands. The ball is in his court now.”

Draco nods, feeling suddenly empty and anxious at the same time. But, slowly and calmly, he drinks the rest of tea and lets Pansy’s voice lull him into a sort of acceptance. 

“Now we wait for his next move, darling,” she speaks softly, touching his shoulder. 

They stay on the couch a little longer. Draco is starting to feel heavy and sleepy. He rubs his eyes and feels like he's out of tears; it feels like there’s nothing else inside of him anymore.

“I put half of a tranquilizer in the tea,” Pansy mutters quietly. “I thought you needed it, but I should have asked.”

Draco laughs, his body shakes softly. God, he loves this woman. 

“You drugged me,” he play-accuses, no bite on his voice, just a silly smile. 

“Well, I drugged  _ us _ ,” Pansy corrects, raising her mug in a silent toast and finishing up her tea with a wink. “Let’s go to bed, sweetheart. Tomorrow you will need the strength.”

“Thanks, Pans.”

“My pleasure, honey.” She kisses his shoulder, encouraging him to stand.

They move quietly in the small flat. 

Draco sleeps the whole night dreamlessly. He’s glad for it—he doesn’t have the strength to manage nightmares this time around. 

He is so tired. So very tired. As if life was drained out of him. 

But Saturday morning wakes him with a desperate feeling of loss and fear. Without the rush of adrenaline from last night, cold sweat hugs his body and the sharp nails of guilt press deep into his chest. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. The curtains are tightly closed and the room is dark. Pansy is snoring gently by his side, fast asleep. 

Desperation kicks, as his fight-or-flight response takes over. He runs to the toilet and vomits, spitting and gagging and feeling miserable about his life. He retches and retches and once there’s nothing else inside his stomach, he pants and cries silently.

He feels very scared. 

When he saw Harry on the dance floor last night, awash in colourful lights, he felt paralysed and mesmerised at the same time by the reality of Harry’s existence, by his looks, his beautiful bright green eyes and wild hair. But then, he started to freak out. He needed the fuck out of there. So he did it—he ran to the back door, stumbled onto Theo and said quickly, “Harry is here! I’m fucked, Theo. He probably still thinks I’m Blaise!”.

Once outside, he felt breathless and cold and shocked and angry. He felt pain in his chest, and such a dizziness that he thought he would pass out. 

He started walking in the light rain and needed to stop to vomit against the bin boxes by the wall. That’s when Pansy found him. She was talking fast and moving her hands agitatedly, and scolding him, all the while petting his hair and offering him a tissue and hurrying him because the rain was getting stronger. 

They moved around the street and passed the main entryway of the club. Draco started crying and saying he fucked up. Pansy tried to calm him down and they walked a bit more. Pansy started signaling for a cab and then Harry—good Lord,  _ his _ Harry—yelled his name in the middle of the night under the rain and proceeded to get as soaked as Draco was and asked him to wait.

And Harry’s voice, for all that’s holy, his voice sounded so torn, so devastated, but at the same time just like the voice Draco imagined. 

Alright, maybe a bit different. He imagined a voice that would be happy and teasing and warm. But once he heard it, it clung to Draco and now Harry’s voice is in his head repeating  _ Draco—DRACO WAIT! _

And thinking back. Thinking  _ now _ , Draco asks himself what would have happened if he hadn’t chickened out. If he had stayed. If he had walked towards Harry and apologised and explained. 

What would have happened then?

Would Harry be understanding?

Would they sit somewhere quiet to talk?

Would Harry buy him a drink?

Would he stay after Draco told him everything?

Would he stay?

Would Harry take Draco’s hand in his?

Would he kiss Draco?

Would Harry stay?

The questions keep floating in his mind and Draco feels so miserable, so stupid. 

He is such a coward.

Harry certainly deserves better.

Draco brushes his teeth and drinks a glass of water before going back to his room and turning on his computer, trying to be quiet and not wake up Pansy. 

Anxiety shakes him from inside out. Maybe Harry read it; maybe he replied. Maybe there’s hope.

But his inbox is empty. As empty as his chest. 

Void. Empty. Void. Empty. Void. Empty...

It goes on. The self-loathing comes back to him like a nightmare during the day. His hands shake and sweat. His emotions are a messy roller coaster that throws him back and forth, from hope to despair. He keeps pressing F5 and refreshing the email page. 

Nothing comes up. He doesn’t know how to deal with it. He goes back to bed and curls beside Pansy, shaking with fear and regret and shame and hate. 

He feels so small. So bloody small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry James Potter, go read the goddamn email, you shit! xD Much love your way, my darlings. What comes next now? Would love to hear your thoughts! love, tai.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: plants (it was mistletoe. honestly yall, at this point I'm making do the way I can xD)

* * *

_"In the dry mud of a house emptied of the presence of a dragon, even returning to eat and sleep normally, as common people do, you no longer know if the wetland from before, full of possibilities, would not be preferable to the dryness now. When everything, without him, is nothing." C.F.A._

* * *

“Harry, is that you?” Sirius's voice invades the kitchen.

Harry feels like a déjà vu, a flashback. He is sitting at the table nursing an already cold cup of tea when Sirius flicks the light on. 

“What are you doing in the dark, pup?” Sirius asks, blinking at the sudden light.

Sirius is wearing his pyjama pants and a battered band t-shirt again, this time with the logo of X-Japan. The collar is worn and stretched, showing Sirius’s bony, white left clavicle. There’s a shock of colour against his pale skin, a bruise. No, a _hickey_.

Harry looks down, feeling poorly. He sourly thinks that at least someone enjoyed their night.

“What happened, Harry?” Sirius's tone is, actually, very serious, and he walks closer to Harry, looking worriedly at him. “Hey, pup, look at me,” he coaxes, touching Harry’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

The grey eyes pin him to the spot. And Sirius was right all along: Harry is not capable of lying to him. 

“It’s Draco,” he mutters, trying not to start crying again. 

“What happened to him?” Sirius worries.

“I saw him tonight.”

And there it is: the tears are back, prickling his eyes stubbornly. 

“Wait, you guys had a date? Why didn't you tell us?”

“No, it wasn’t a date,” Harry shakes his head. His hair is still damp but he changed into his pyjamas once he arrived home, feeling too cold to handle the feelings in wet clothes. “He—he was in the club.”

Sirius takes Harry’s face in his hands. 

“Was he rude to you? Are you hurt?” He pats Harry’s shoulders and arms anxiously.

“No, I’m fine.”

“You are definitely not fine, Harry James,” Sirius states, his voice ringing in the quiet kitchen, sounding angry. “What happened?” he presses again.

“You were right: he is not who he said he was. I shouldn’t have believed in a stranger.” Harry says, feeling a mix of anger and embarrassment.

Sirius's eyes go cold and steely: he is all of a sudden very still, and it’s rather scary to see him like this. 

“Harry, I will kill this boy myself,” he starts, voice cold and sharp, fingers digging into Harry’s shoulders. “What exactly happened, pup?”

“Sirius?” Remus' voice comes from the hallway and soon enough he is in the entryway of the kitchen and then hurrying towards them. “What happened, Harry?”

Harry starts sobbing, properly crying like a kid. Because it’s too much, the pain is too intense, and these marvelous men in front of him, worried and ready to protect him—it's just too much. 

And he will never have what they do. 

Remus keeps talking rushedly and Sirius is talking too, and Harry just wants it to stop hurting so much. 

“He was ashamed of his looks, so—” Harry sobs, eyes closed but he keeps going “—he sent me pictures of his fucking friend and not himself.”

“So you met the friend?” Sirius asks, trying to understand. 

Harry hears the kettle and Remus’s soft steps around the kitchen.

Harry nods. 

“Saw the friend, and approached him thinking he was Draco, then he realised and told me he is not Draco, and that Draco had just left after seeing me. So I rushed outside after him, and he was getting into a fucking cab and saying ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ and crying, and I-I asked him to wait, but he didn’t—” he gasps around the words, emotions boiling inside of him with a sour taste in the back of his mouth. 

He lets out another breathy, wet sob, eyes shut tight and hands grabbing hard at Sirius’s hands. 

Sirius holds his hands in return, accepting the hard grip and breathing through his nose. Harry tries to match his breathing so he won’t hyperventilate.

“He sounded so broken, _so_ broken, and he fucking left me there! _Dad_ , he left me behind!!” 

He doesn’t realise his voice is so loud until he opens his eyes and still hears the ring of it echoing in the kitchen. 

Moony puts three steaming mugs of tea on top of the table and steps closer to Harry, running his hand in big calming circles over his back. Harry trembles and shivers and takes deep, shaky breaths. Padfoot only nods at him, holding his hands and eyes with a serious expression.

“So I met his friends and we talked, and they said Draco has some pretty valid reasons. And they were really worried that this was going to break him, and Draco is depressed so I now worry too, because what if this is what does the trick and he—he— _oh god_ —what if—”

“Shh,” Sirius mutters, bringing him into a hug. “It’s okay, Harry. Don’t go there...” he says, voice soft, his mouth pressing against Harry’s temples. “It’s not your fault, Prongslet, you did nothing wrong.”

Remus hugs them and Harry feels protected, held in their embrace. Remu’s cheek against the back of Harry’s head, breathing deeply, and Sirius saying that it’s not his fault. That everything will be okay. 

And Harry lets himself be calmed down. Lets the emotions wash through him and out of him like he used to do when he was a kid. _Let it all go_.

Once they move and each take a chair, keeping close to Harry, Remus smiles warmly at him. 

“It’s beautiful, you know, that you care so much about him, that you worry,” he says with a quiet voice. “He lied to you, and you are probably hurt, but you are sitting here scared that something could happen to Draco.” Remus dries the damp, wrinkled corners of his eyes. “You have a heart of gold, Harry.”

Harry breathes heavily. 

“Was he alone when he left?” Remus asks. 

“No, he was with another friend.”

“That’s good,” Sirius says reassuringly. “You don’t need to worry too much, then, he’s with friends.”

Harry nods, looking blindly at the kitchen table. Yes, that makes sense. Draco won’t be alone.

“How are you, though?” Remus asks softly, his fingers seeking Harry’s hand. 

“Tired,” he mumbles. 

And he is, so goddamn tired. He doesn’t even know what time it is. 

“I feel...” _numb_ , his brain provides, but he doesn’t say it. “Like I am in a bad dream.”

Sirius snorts gently into his tea. 

“Sounds about right, pup. It’s a lot to take in...”

“Yeah...”

He feels dazed now. As if he could sleep, as if his body was not his, like an out-of-body experience.

“Did you get to see him, then?” Remus asks gently.

“Yes,” he says, memories messy and blurry with emotions and the rain and the cold that comes from both outside and inside his body. “He’s white—I mean, he is not black,” he shakes his head, confused with his own words. “He’s blond, and looked pale, very thin... I-I don’t know, I didn’t see him close enough. It’s just—like a glimpse. Not enough. I don’t know how to explain.”

“You don’t need to explain, Harry,” Remus holds his hand tighter. “Would you like to sleep now?”

“Yes, pup, you look very tired.” Sirius agrees. 

Harry nods.

“Yeah... yeah, I’ll go to bed now,” he says, not moving.

They stay there with him in silence for a while until Harry feels strong enough to move, slowly. Sirius tucks him in this time, for real, like when he was a kid. 

And exhaustion engulfs him into sleep.

* * *

When Harry wakes, it’s already late in the afternoon. Sirius is in the living room watching the telly and Remus is at the bookshop with Luna for the children’s arts and crafts activities.

Sirius headily makes him a fry-up for brunch and sits with him, sipping his tea. He’s careful today, not saying much. Actually, not saying anything at all, just watching his godson with concerned eyes. 

“I’m fine,” Harry offers.

“Are you, though?”

_Is he, really?_

It all feels alien, like something that happened to someone else, not him. Harry shrugs. 

“I think it was a hard blow,” he says softly. “I dunno how I feel.”

Actually, he feels nothing. He feels void and empty and confused. He felt abandoned and angry and upset last night, but now he feels distant.

And numb. Definitely numb. 

They watch the telly in silence. Sirius pets him and fills his mug with tea, then later with hot chocolate. But at some point Harry starts feeling agitated, as if the numbness is gone and a restlessness is overtaking him. 

He takes his feet from Sirius’s lap and informs him he is going to be in his room. He reassures his godfather that, _yes, he is just fine._

He is not though. 

His hands are shaking slightly and he feels like crying all over again. So he takes a long shower, puts on some warm clothes and sits in front of his computer. Turning it on with shaky fingers. 

Harry doesn’t know exactly why he is suddenly so anxious. 

Has Draco reached out?

Is he online?

Has he blocked their private chat?

He isn’t sure. But Draco is offline in the chat box. But there is an email from him.

Harry’s heart beats loud and fast and his palms are covered in cold sweat. 

The email is from yesterday, though. 8pm. He was at Luna’s before going out. 

He clicks on it, eyes prickling and hands shaking and legs jumping and heart speeding up like a rollercoaster and a free falling bungee jump.

He holds his breath and reads:

> _Harry, I haven’t been honest with you._
> 
> _See, I have no idea how or where to start. But I lied. I lied so much that, at some point, I lost track of how to tell you the truth._
> 
> _I am sorry. I really am._
> 
> _I think it’s time I come clean._
> 
> _For months I was feeling miserable, so when we started chatting, it never crossed my mind that we would end up being friends. Or more than friends, honestly. I thought we would exchange emails and chat some nights, but not like this._
> 
> _What we have is so much more than what I was hoping for._
> 
> _Harry, you are the best part of my days and I really,_ really _like you._
> 
> _I know, it’s rich for me to say that now. Now that I already fucked up and told you half-lies. But it’s true Harry, and I just hope you can forgive me._
> 
> _I will start from the basics, I think. I lied to you about how I look, Harry. Because, two months ago, I looked pretty shit. Looking at my reflection in the mirror would make me cry and drive me mad. Staring at my old pictures just filled me with misery, because I used to look good,_ so good _Harry. But so different from how I was looking two months ago. All skin and bones. Sharp edges and pointy features. Well, I guess I’m always a bit pointy, to be honest._
> 
> _I had no hopes of getting to know you in person back then. So I sent you my best friend’s photos. See, Blaise is a very good-looking man. And I wanted you to think I was handsome. That I was healthy and attractive. I wanted the attention. I was really selfish._
> 
> _You don’t need to forgive me. I would understand if you didn’t. But now, now Harry, I do want to meet you in person. I want to look into your bright green eyes and tell you how you changed my life, Harry._
> 
> _You saved me, Harry._
> 
> _I wish you would give me the opportunity to tell you this while holding your hand. But I’ll understand if this is not an option anymore. It pains me, but it was my poor decisions that drove us here._
> 
> _There’s more to tell. About many other half-truths and omissions. But I would rather tell you those more privately. Not through a cold computer screen._
> 
> _I’m enclosing you a photo of myself. My friend Theo took it last week on our walk in the park. I don’t look as good as I used to. But I’m healthy now. Still too thin, though._
> 
> _So that's me, Harry._
> 
> _On your own time, if you would like to know the other things I still need to tell you, my phone number is at the bottom of this message. Call me whenever you feel ready. I will tell you the whole truth._
> 
> _With love, and pointy features,_
> 
> _Draco._ _  
> __My number: XX XXXX XXXXXX_
> 
> Click to see the attached image

Harry’s breath hitches and he chokes stupidly on his own spit while coughing and clicking in the photo attached to the email.

It opens and maximises on the screen of his computer.

And there he is. 

_This is Draco._

His _Draco_.

With high cheekbones, sharper than Blaise’s, but thinner lips. He’s very pale, and the deep green from the trees and grass around him in the picture, makes him even paler. His hair is pale blond, long enough to touch his jaw. His chin is actually very pointy. 

He is smiling, though softly, and his lips are pink; they look dry. He looks a bit sad and mysterious. 

But it’s Draco’s eyes that take Harry’s breath away. They are clear grey, very similar to Sirius’s eyes. They look piercingly at the camera, and his gaze pins Harry down to his chair. These eyes can see him, as if Draco is seeing through to his soul. 

Harry thinks these grey eyes carry such depth, a mix of sadness and mystery, as if he had lived a whole life, and Harry asks himself what else Draco is not telling him. 

Then Harry cries, staring at Draco’s photo. Because this thin, pointy man is the one who stole his heart with kind words and half-truths. This is the man he fell in love with. 

Looking at him is painful, _so_ painful. With the breeze messing Draco’s hair and the plants in the back of the picture and the way Draco holds himself tightly, posture taut as if he needed to go about his life prepared to hold himself if the wind blew too hard. 

Harry looks at him, and he _sees_ him. This is the dragon he’s been living with. This is the person that held him together during the worst period of his life. This is the man who holds his bare pulsing heart in his hands.

And he _looks_ like a Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is still under revision. not sure if I'll be able to post tomorrow but I'm hoping I can make iittttt! <3 Hope you all enjoyed this chap as Harry finally gets to read Draco's email. ^^ we getting closer! :3 I would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
> Also, some good news for those who feel curious about Sirius x Remus story: I'm definitely going to write about them after Dragons is finished, I have a fic title and all, so that's that! :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: angel/miracle

* * *

_ "When I think of him again, in the nights when I lean over the window looking for moving lights across the sky,   
I like to imagine him flying with his big golden wings. Loose in air." C.F.A. _

* * *

Draco is out of sorts. Anxiety is something he doesn’t know how to navigate well. He feels fidgety and jumpy and constricted, with bouts of tears and sobs. He spends Saturday with Pansy and they go out for an early dinner with Theo before she needs to go to her night shift. 

Theo tells them about what happened after they left. He tells about Harry crying on the pavement and shouting, about how Blaise needed to lift him and bring him back to the club’s entry under the awning, and everything else that happened. 

Draco can’t stop picturing Harry soaked, on his knees, crying because Draco hurt him. 

The image in his head makes him want to cry and punch himself for being so selfish. 

Theo says he is going to stay the night. So when Pansy leaves, saying she will be back in the morning to check on him, they go to the park and smoke some weed and talk about Blaise being mad at Draco. 

“C’mon, Draco, you know him. He will come around.”

“I didn’t want to scare any of you,” Draco says, thinking that back then, he often thought about his own death. But it was a scary thought, so he kept it to himself. 

Well, to himself and Harry. 

“Draco, look, Pansy knew because she is a nurse and she studied these things. She took all of your indoor keys away. And I... I’ve been in this dark place as well, so I knew. Well, I  _ know _ how it goes. But Blaise... You know him, he only sees what he wants to see. And he was scared. He was the one that was the most concerned and upset and angry at you. He was probably angry at himself.”

“I know.” Draco takes a pull on the joint and holds it in before letting go. “It could’ve been him.”

“Yeah...”

They talk shit for a while before going back to his flat. They watch the telly and Draco keeps popping into his room to check his email, but Harry hasn't replied. 

Draco feels a huge loneliness deep inside his chest. Killing time is not helping enough. He wishes he had the balls to send a message, but Harry hasn’t been online any of the times Draco checked.

“Give him time, give him space. The man needs to think a bit!” Pansy had said earlier. 

So he bites his tongue and goes to bed. Praying for a miracle, for forgiveness, for a second chance.

But Sunday is no better. 

He wakes up late, a bit drowsy with the mix of weed, residual hangover and sadness. Pansy is asleep by his side. He didn’t see her come in. He checks his phone, checks his email and goes make tea. 

Theo is asleep on the sofa. It’s past 11am.

Draco needs to do something. 

So he goes for a walk. He watches the kids playing in the park and waits for time to move fast to no avail. So he writes down some sentences in his notebook until Pansy calls. 

He goes back to the flat, Theo has already left; Pansy is wearing his dark green pullover again, sipping tea in the kitchen. He stares at the bruises and burns on the back of her milky white thighs. 

“What is this about, Pansy?” he gives in. 

Not because he is curious, more like he feels like he should check in if everything is fine, because that is what good friends do. And he appreciates having something else in his mind. 

He knows Pansy well. And a few years back, Draco went with her and Blaise to one or two very kinky clubs. Out of curiosity—turned out it was definitely not his thing. But Pansy enjoyed it. He remembers the stories. Then, at some point, he stopped joining them in these little adventurous trips to dark rooms with weird paraphernalia. Then Blaise stopped too, but not Pansy.

“Completely consensual,” she assures him. 

“Are you taking care of yourself, Pans?” he presses, as they both sit at the sofa in quiet company. 

“Yes.”

“You still go to that... whats the name, the place that looks like a dungeon?”

“No,” Pansy shakes her head. “I’ve been going to another club. You would actually appreciate this one,” she says with a smile. “Not dark and scary at all, I promise, it’s more like performance art, very sophisticated.”

“ _ Really _ ?”

“Yes, I promise!”

And she goes about talking weird Japanese names for rope and ties and suspension that makes Draco feel conflicted. But she looks fine, and the club seems to have a strict code of ethics that suits well enough to keep everything safe and consensual. So he lets it go and listens to her stories. 

Pansy tells him about this new guy she met two weeks ago. Draco probes and pokes and tries to fish for more information, to no avail. Pansy was never very lucky in the dating department. Last time she had a relationship, it was awful. Some older doctor from the previous hospital she worked in; he was married with kids. And she suffered. So he worries. 

His mum calls and Pansy convinces him to accept going for an early dinner together. Draco knows fairly well that Pansy has not been in a posh restaurant for quite a while. Her family suffered a lot with her father’s bankruptcy due to corruption. He is still living abroad on the continent. It was during her last year at university that everything had changed. So he gives in and they join Narcissa for dinner. 

Narcissa looks good. Not as concerned as the other day, but she asks about his health and future medical appointments, hinting that she would like to go with him. 

She keeps polite conversation then, asking Pansy after her mother and siblings, about her work. Then she goes about poking about a proper boyfriend and Pansy tenses a bit but she keeps up. They talk and talk and Draco zones out, hearing only bits and pieces about fashion and hair cuts and Pansy’s work. 

Draco feels disconnected from his body. His mind goes back again and again to Harry crying out his name under the rain. It feels like a long time ago, but it hasn't even been two days since then. 

The dinner drags on and he prays silently for a miracle once again. 

He needs one—a huge miracle. 

And the moment he finishes his silent pray for a miracle, his mobile starts ringing. 

He locks eyes with Pansy and she looks at him expectantly. He takes the phone but he doesn't recognise the number on the screen. 

“Sorry, I need to take this,” he apologises and Pansy winks, dragging Narcissa again into the conversation. 

Draco’s heart is beating so loud in his chest it’s all he can hear, walking fast into the lobby of the restaurant, far from the noise. 

His fingers shake as he flips his Nokia open and takes a deep shaky breath before pressing the green button and holding the phone to his ear. 

Someone is breathing at the other side of the line and Draco feels his knees go weak. He leans against the marble wall, trying not to fall.

“I’m sorry,” Draco says softly, his voice catching a bit, before whoever it is can say anything. 

“ _ Draco _ .”

_ Oh god _ . 

The voice is warm, and it sounds shaky and breathless and Draco closes his eyes and he sighs. 

The way his name sounds in this masculine voice is just too much. His lips tremble and he leans harder against the wall. 

“Harry?” he asks. 

“ _ Yeah, it’s me. _ ”

Draco lets out a breathy laugh that sounds more like a gasp and opens his eyes, looking around. Harry’s voice is beautiful; it has such a soft quality to it. It’s tender and overwhelming.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” he says again. “Wait, I need to sit,” Draco mumbles stupidly; he wants to kick himself, and he walks fast with shaky legs to an armchair in the reception. 

Harry just breathes deeply on the other side of the line and Draco doesn't know exactly what to say. He wished for it so much, but he never got past the idea of getting back an email, or a chat message, or a call. He never imagined where to start. 

“You read my email,” Draco says. 

“ _ Yes I did _ ,” Harry affirms, his voice a bit breathy. 

“Okay. So...” He fumbles about for words, for something, not really sure how to do this. “You saw my photo?”

Harry laughs. It’s a throaty sound and soothes Draco like a balm. 

“ _ Yes, Draco, I saw your photo _ ,” Harry answers, still laughing a bit.

“This is crazy,” Draco says. “Your voice, your laughter, it-it’s—” He’s speechless.

“ _ It is _ ,” Harry agrees, amenable. He sounds like he doesn’t know how to go about this either. “ _ I like the photo _ ,” he says softly, in a smaller voice. “ _ You look like a Draco _ .”

Draco laughs at that, feeling giddy. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, dumbfounded.

Harry laughs again, louder.  _ Gods _ , it sounds beautiful. It’s making delicious sensations inside his chest.

“What does it mean?!” he presses on, laughing as well. 

“ _ My friend said Blaise’s picture didn’t look like a Draco. I suppose she was right _ ,” Harry says. 

And there’s a silence. A deep, long, scary, pregnant silence. 

Draco sighs heavily. 

“I shouldn’t have done that, Harry. I’m really sorry.”

“ _ I know you are. _ ”

“How are you?” Draco asks, feeling bold and tender and worried.

Harry sniffs from the other side of the line. 

“ _ I’m upset. _ ”

“That’s fair.” Draco’s breathing stutters.

“ _ I’m trying to understand but—but, I just end up feeling angry and confused, _ ” Harry admits. 

Draco’s breathing hitches listening to Harry. He really sounds upset.

“ _ It’s just that...Why would you lie to me? I keep asking myself if I’ve done something wrong... _ ”

“No, no, Harry, you’ve done nothing wrong. I-I’m the one who did it, by lying to you for so long,” he explains hurriedly. 

Harry has done nothing wrong: on the contrary, he has done everything perfectly. 

He hears Harry clearing his throat on the other side of the line.

“ _ I have a lot of questions, Draco. _ ”

Draco hums at that, waiting. Loving the way his name sounds on Harry’s voice when he is not shouting desperately in the middle of the street under the pouring rain, but hating the way he still sounds heartbroken and sad.

“ _ You said there’s more... _ ” Harry whispers. He sounds small and vulnerable now and Draco bits his lip, feeling torn and sad.

“Yes, there’s more Harry,” he affirms, taking a deep breath and thinking  _ here we go _ . “The thing is, when we met in the forum—”

“ _ No! _ ” Harry cuts him off, speaking loudly.

“No what?” Draco asks, confused.

“ _ You said you wanted to say these things... er... how was it?... Ah, yes, here, looking into my—and I quote—bright green eyes and holding my hand. _ ”

“Oh.”

Draco holds his breath.

“ _ I want that, Draco. I want you to look into my eyes and tell me your truth. I can even hold your hand while you speak, _ ” he says resolutely.

“You want to meet me?!” Draco asks exasperated.

“ _ Yes I do _ .”

“Is this a joke? Because, honestly, I couldn’t handle a—”

“ _ It’s not a joke. Look, _ ” Harry takes a deep breath while Draco thinks he will drop dead right now right here. It’s too much. All too much. “ _ I’m angry and upset that you lied. That you sent me fake pictures. It hurt, okay,  _ a lot _. But I want the truth, and then we’ll see. _ ” 

Draco listens attentively to Harry’s breathing. 

“ _ I’ve wanted to meet you for a very long time—you know this. So, if you want me to forgive you and to listen to you, this is my only condition. I want you to do it in person. I want to look at  _ your _ bright grey eyes while you tell me your story. _ ”

“When?” Draco whispers, feeling scared. 

“ _ Where are you? _ ”

“Now?!” Draco shrieks. 

Harry laughs, nervously.

“ _ Yes, Draco, now. Where are you _ ?”

“I’m having dinner with my mum,” he whispers.

“ _ Ah, I’m sorry I interrupted _ .” Harry sounds off balance. “ _ Is everything okay? _ ”

“Yes, it’s okay. She’s been nice, really nice.”

“ _ I’m glad. _ ”

“And, you didn’t interrupt, we were having dessert.”

“ _ So, are you free? _ ”

“You mean, now?”

“ _ Well, yeah... _ ” Harry sounds breathy. 

_ Lord _ , his voice makes things flutter inside Draco’s belly. 

“I am.” Draco decides.

He decides to take the leap. To let himself free-fall. All or nothing. And even if he crashes in the end, at least he tried. 

His hands shake, his breath stutters, his chest constricts. He tells Harry the name and address of the restaurant. 

“ _ Can I pick you up in thirty minutes? _ ” Harry asks.

“Yeah...”

Draco feels out of breath, punch-drunk, insanely aware of the ticking of the fast clock that is life.

Thirty minutes. He will  _ meet _ Harry in thirty minutes. 

“Harry?” he says, closing his eyes and pressing a hand to his chest.

“ _ Yeah? _ ”

“I’m scared,” Draco admits, feeling small and scared and very cold all of a sudden. 

“ _ I’m scared too _ ,” Harry offers, openly. 

And the honesty, the blunt honesty that passes between them is comforting. 

It’s so  _ real _ .

“ _ I promise I won’t bite. _ ” Harry adds.

Draco laughs, shoulders shaking, breath catching, heart fluttering like a butterfly’s wings.

“ _ We can hold hands if you like... _ ” Harry offers softly.

Draco’s insides flutter faster, warmth spreading up his chest, and he smiles stupidly at the idea of touching Harry’s hand.

Harry is  _ so _ kind.  _ Way _ too kind. 

“I would love that, Harry.”

“ _ Perfect! _ ” Harry sounds confident now, and content, and excited. Draco laughs softly, it’s disturbingly cute. “ _ See you soon, Draco. _ ”

“Looking forward to it, Harry.”

“ _ Me too. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) hi, I'm so happy with this. omg, I'm emotional! hope you guys enjoyed!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: xmas lights and ornaments

* * *

_ "He smelled like mint, like rosemary." C.F.A. _

* * *

“I’m going to see Draco,” Harry says, taking the car keys and looking intently at Sirius and Remus lounging on the sofa under a blanket, watching a movie. 

“You WHAT?” Sirius asks alarmed.

Remus just watches him curiously.

“Explain, now!” Sirius demands and Remus jabs him under the blanket.

“He sent me an email with his  _ real _ picture and his number,” Harry sighs. “So I called him, and we talked. He said there’s more to it, and I told him I prefer that he tell me his whole story in person. He said yes and I don’t want to be late,” he explains quickly, not wanting the conversation to drag.

Remus smiles softly at him. 

“But—but you forgave him?” Sirius presses, his brow furrowing in a worried expression. 

“I will know once I learn the whole thing.”

“Well, sounds like the right thing to do, Harry,” Remus says, and Sirius jabs him this time. “What, Padfoot- It’s true! Harry needs closure, or at least he deserves a new start with a full view of the reality of the situation. Let's give Draco a chance,” he says, shrugging. 

Sirius rolls his eyes and then stares at Harry.

“Do you have your phone on you?”

“Yeah.”

“Call if you need us—I’ll call you if you don’t let us know you are alive and well.”

“Fair enough!” Harry agrees before going out.

“GOOD LUCK!” Remus yells, then grunts. “What, Sirius? This is exciting! Like a love story from a book!”

“For god’s sake, Moony, you are such a sap!” Sirius groans.

Harry shuts the door and takes the car. 

The drive is a short one. He puts the radio on because he feels too anxious. 

His hands are clammy and his heart is beating so fast inside his chest he doesn’t know he will be able to talk once he gets there. He also has no idea where to take Draco or what to do or how to start or what to say. 

But one thing that always defined Harry is bravery. So he gathers his courage and mutters to himself that things will be alright. 

He doesn’t know how to define what he is feeling. He has a weird hutch that tells him to just listen to Draco and things will go well. But his anxiety is definitely just telling him everything will crash and burn.

So he’s trying to think that, whatever the truth is, he will manage, and if not, maybe they can be friends?

“Fuck being friends...” he mutters to himself. 

No, he likes Draco. And Theo said Draco’s reasons were valid. So he will take the leap. 

The city is shining with Christmas lights and he realises that today is the first of December. It looks beautiful and shiny like every other Christmas, but there’s a quality to the lights and ornaments surrounding him. They give him hope.

Maybe he will have a Christmas miracle this year. This bloody hell of a year. 

He turns left, watching the buildings and realising he is on the right street. His heart beats a little faster inside his chest and he turns off the radio, breathing fast. He slows down, entering the side lane and watching the hubbub of people on the sidewalk. 

Harry passes a big building full of expensive stores and sees the big fancy restaurant sign. On the outside, leaning on a lamppost, stands Draco staring at his phone in his hands. The small brunette from the other day is talking to him and making big gestures with her hands.

Harry thinks he will pass out, or vomit, or cry. 

The Christmas lights are shining over them; Draco’s hair looks almost white like this. There’s a purplish hue under his eyes. He looks tense and tired and he keeps tapping his right foot and nodding or shaking his head at his friend and rolling his eyes. 

Harry snorts. He looks very  _ Draco _ . 

Harry takes a moment to take a deep breath, turn on the parking lights and slow down to a stop in front of them, opening the window.

“Draco?” he calls.

Draco’s mouth forms a small ‘o’, and he looks up very slowly as if trying to delay it. But then his grey eyes focus on Harry and Harry can’t stop a huge smile from forming on his lips. 

Draco looks gorgeous. 

Thin and tired, sure. 

But utterly gorgeous. 

He flushes as he stares at Harry, his eyes going wide and lips closing fast. He blinks and bites his lip.

“Harry,” he whispers, voice tight and trembling. 

And Harry feels the anxiety diluting, slowly, inside his chest. They are both anxious and scared. And Harry wants this more than anything. 

“Should I park?” he asks, looking at the rearview and seeing the line of cars forming behind him. 

“No, I—”

“I’m Pansy, by the way,” says the brunette. “You hurt him and you are dead.” She says firmly and Harry nods curtly. 

“Nice to meet you too,” he says with warm sarcasm. Harry decides he likes her fierce care for Draco. “I’ll get him back to you safe and sound,” he adds. 

“Perfect!” she beams. “Now, there you go, sweetie.” She presses a soft kiss on Draco’s cheeks and whispers something that Harry can’t hear, squeezing Draco’s arm gently and walking away. She mouths “enjoy!” before disappearing in the mass of people. 

Harry looks back at Draco expectantly and someone honks loudly. 

Draco moves, opening the door of the car and getting in in a hurry. Harry looks at him again and they stare at each other speechless for a moment before the honking comes again and both of them laugh, flushing and Harry starts the car and goes on. 

“Where would you like to go?” he asks, his eyes moving from the traffic light to Draco’s face to the rearview mirror. 

“I don’t know,” Draco mumbles. His hands are twisting over and over again in his lap. “Somewhere quiet?”

Harry nods. 

“It’s cold, so we can get something warm to drink. I think I know where to go.” Harry muses.

He feels nervous. And the silence is a bit too much. He wasn't expecting that. 

But honestly, what was he expecting?

Draco is watching him. Harry can feel his eyes on him, on his face, his arms, his whole body. And it warms Harry up, the gentle tingle of Draco’s curious stare. 

“This is not fair,” Harry says. 

“What?” Draco sounds surprised.

“You are watching me and I need to look at the road when all I want is to look at you,” he admits. He glances at Draco and sees him flushed and biting on his lower lip with a small smile playing on his face. 

“Pull over,” Draco says, firmly, surprising Harry. 

They look at each other for a moment and Harry looks around at the lanes.

Yes, he could pull over here.

He takes a breath, hitching as he hears Draco’s own breathing coming in fast and short pants, a little louder than his own. All Harry wants is to look at him. 

Harry parks in front of a coffee shop and turns off the car. 

He turns around slowly, nervous, his heart beating fast. 

They look at each other. It’s dark. The shadows inside the car only allow Harry to see so much. He sees the contours of Draco’s face, his hair, his fancy black woolen coat. 

Draco licks his lips and Harry’s eyes dart down to his mouth, his beautiful, pink, heart shaped mouth. A sudden heat pools inside of Harry, makes him shiver. 

“Can I touch you?” he whispers. 

“Yeah,” Draco’s voice is a bit different from the phone, but it’s breathy and husky, and it’s doing things to Harry. 

His breath stutters as he moves his hand slowly, his fingers caressing softly over Draco’s cheekbones. Draco’s eyes close softly, and he gasps, trembling at the touch. 

Draco’s skin is soft and warm, and Harry presses his fingertips over his temple, slowly turning down and tracing his jaw. He is mesmerised by the touch, by the feeling of it, by having Draco under his fingers for real. 

“You are so real,” Harry mutters quietly, surprised. 

Draco opens his eyes; they seem darker than before. His lips part and he smiles softly. The movement makes his cheek touch the palm of Harry’s hand. 

“You feel real too,” Draco whispers back. 

It’s strange, how they are alone in the shadows, inside the car, and it all feels so dreamlike and surreal that they need to whisper in order not to break the spell, the beautiful moment of recognition and discovery.

Harry feels bold, pressing his palm firmer against Draco’s cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, clean-shaven, against his hand. 

“ _ Draco _ ...” 

And Draco hums, closing his eyes, turning his face in Harry’s hand and pressing a small kiss inside his palm. 

Like something Harry could hold onto. 

Harry’s breath hitches; he feels tenderness mix up with a much more heated feeling, with a desire so real and strong he doesn’t know how to manage it. 

He wants to kiss Draco, his pink heart-shaped mouth that is pressing against Harry’s skin in such a soft, delicate touch. 

“ _ Jesus _ , Draco,” Harry pressing his palm harder against Draco’s lips. It’s tantalising, the feeling of it, Draco’s breath warm against his skin, so fucking  _ real _ . 

Draco opens his eyes, and looks wantonly at Harry. It’s a sight. Harry shivers, Draco’s eyes watching him with a specific kind of hunger. And Harry wants him. He wants that mouth and those eyes. 

Draco is bloody sexy like this.

“Tease,” Harry whispers and attempts to move closer, but the seat belt holds him back tight. “Shit.” They laugh at it and he fumbles, the sexual tension breaking. He releases Draco’s face for a moment, unbuckling the seat belt while Draco does the same. 

Inside the car, with the motor off, it starts getting cold. 

They both turn to each other, a bit closer this time. Harry flicks the inside light on and they blink at the sudden brightness, still staring at each other. 

Under the yellow light, Draco looks even more beautiful. Harry touches Draco’s golden eyebrows, his perfect nose, softly, the curve of Draco’s upper lip, his plump, rosy bottom lip. Draco’s flushed all over and it’s beautiful.

Draco looks at him with hooded eyes, and moves his lips under Harry’s thumb to press yet another gentle kiss.

_ Fuck _ . Harry wants him. Desire flows inside him like lava.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry whispers and Draco blinks, his cheeks flushing further at the praise, his lips parting under Harry’s touch. His breath is hot against Harry’s skin and his lip catches against Harry’s thumb, moist and warm under Harry’s fingertip. 

“Oh  _ Harry _ ,” he sounds so pained, suddenly closing his eyes and smiling sadly at Harry. 

Harry feels Draco’s smile against his fingertip—he can feel the way his lips turn upwards gently. 

But then Draco is moving back a little and the touch is gone.

“We should talk first,” Draco says, opening his eyes. 

Harry feels himself tensing up, anxious for what Draco might say. The air around them is charged, the atmosphere moving from sensual and teasing to something more foreboding. 

“Right.” He clears his throat, adjusting his position in his seat. “You want a hot drink now or after we talk?” Harry asks, feeling the chilly air inside the car starting to cling to him.

He doesn’t know if it’s the cold or if it’s his nerves that makes him shiver. 

“I think,” Draco stops, checkin Harry’s face, worrying his lip. “Let me talk now. I’m worried I will chicken out later,” he says, his voice constricted. 

“Okay,” Harry agrees. 

A thousand thoughts pass his mind but he can’t get a grip on them.

He shuffles more, positioning himself and moves his hand again, this time to take one of Draco’s hands. 

Draco smiles, looking at their hands and reciprocates the touch, his long thin fingers holding Harry’s, and the touch is brilliant—it’s light and kind, as if Harry’s hand was something precious. 

“Okay,” Draco whispers, looking up at Harry. “I’m very nervous.” His hand twitches in Harry’s grasp. “I’m not sure if you should hold my hand,” he adds, his voice and breathing speeding up, anxiously. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Draco,” Harry interjects. “You said you wanted to hold my hand, and I want to hold yours too. Like all these months, we’ve been holding each other, right? Whatever it is, just tell me.”

“Right,” Draco sighs, then blinks fast and focuses his bright grey eyes on Harry. “You saved me, Harry,” he whispers.

Harry shivers under the intense gaze, under the weight of Draco’s words.

“When we met in the forum, I was hopeless,” he goes on, fingers holding tight now. “I thought no one would ever love me or care for me anymore. But then you were there, talking about your godfather Moony, about how scared you were of losing him,” Draco’s voice waivers a bit. He takes a shaky breath. “About how much you loved him, even though—”

His voice catches in the back of his throat and Harry holds his hand tighter, pulling him in back here, now, in the car, in his hands.

“Even though he is HIV-positive.” Draco says.

He takes a long breath. 

Harry wonders. And maybe—

“I met you when my head was still full of prejudices and myths and fear and I was so bloody afraid of being lonely, Harry.”

Harry sees Draco’s face transforming in front of him, and there’s this deep sadness that always accompanied Draco from the moment Harry met him. But this time, Harry can see it with his own eyes, how Draco’s eyes look sorrowful and cold and scared and lost. 

So bloody lost. 

“Harry, I’m...I-I’m—” His lips tremble and his eyes go wet and Harry watches transfixed as a tear slides down Draco’s cheek and he shuts his eyes firmly. 

Lost.

Afraid.

Full of self-loathing.

Scared of not being loved. 

And it clicks. 

Because Harry has lived his whole life surrounded by different kinds of people with these same struggles and fears. He was raised by a man that fought everyday against the constant disgust and discrimination thrown at him. 

Harry watched first-hand how slurs and offences were spat at Remus, how his own teachers have been concerned sometimes about Harry being raised by a HIV-positive gay man. 

He wonders how he hasn’t noticed before.

Draco’s eyes are closed, his lips pressed in a tight line and his shoulders shaking lightly. 

Harry  _ sees _ him. Truly. For who he is, for the fears he has, for the life he’s been grieving after for all these months.

He understands, finally. Even without the words being said. 

But he needs to hear it.

Harry moves, taking Draco’s face in both his hands, drying the tears with the pads of his thumbs and coaching Draco’s face up. 

“Look at me, Draco,” he asks with a gentle voice. “ _ Please _ , look at my bright green eyes and say it.  _ Trust _ me,” Harry pleads. 

Draco’s eyes open—they look strikingly bright. He licks his lips and sniffs softly. He lifts his hands and takes hold of Harry’s wrists—not aggressively, not to move him away, just holding on, holding still, keeping himself grounded. 

Draco takes a deep shaky breath. The rims of his eyes are damp and reddened. He blinks twice and then looks at Harry firmly, his hold on Harry’s wrists goes tighter. His jaw works and he swallows, licking his lips softly. 

“I’m HIV-positive, Harry.”

Draco’s voice is not shaking this time. It’s clear and louder than before. Resolute.

Harry nods, feeling resolute himself.

“Thanks for telling me, Draco.” His voice doesn’t waiver either. 

Their gaze holds, with intense emotion and spoken truth. 

And Harry understands.

The low self-esteem. 

The depression. 

The weight loss. 

The pain. 

The shame.

The sadness. 

The fears.

The  _ lies _ .

Harry  _ really _ understands.

“Draco, I’m going to kiss you now,” Harry warns, a second before he moves forward and presses their lips together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D TAINARA IS HAPPY


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Christmas gift (from me to you my dear readers)
> 
> I can't believe it took me 34k to bring us here, to this moment. oh well, here, have at it!

* * *

_"Like this, right now, I'm here." C.F.A._

* * *

He can’t stop looking at Harry because Harry is for real, finally, in front of him and he can’t believe his luck, the pure, dumb luck of being inside this car and breathing the same air as Harry. It’s dizzying and immense, the feeling overflowing Draco’s chest. 

And he’s nervous, but when Harry says it’s not fair that he can’t look at Draco when all he wants to do is to see him, Draco feels bold. Tells him to pull over, and when Harry does and asks to touch him, Draco can’t say no—so, of course, he says yes. 

_ Yes, yes, yes _ . And Harry’s touch,  _ oh my god _ , Harry’s touch is even more real and his fingers are on Draco's face, tracing Draco’s features, discovering his face and skin. 

And Draco feels high. He feels bloody alive with Harry’s fingertips on his bare flesh and at once it’s too much and not enough. He presses a kiss against Harry’s palm, and Harry calls him beautiful with such love, such hunger, that Draco wants more. 

He wants Harry’s hands all over him and his mouth on his body.

But he  _ can’t _ .

And when Harry thumbs his bottom lip, Draco wants to lick it. To suck on it and kiss it. He wants this man to make love to him and take him. 

But he  _ can’t _ .

Draco moves away, lightly. The touch is broken, the spell undone. 

He  _ feels _ undone; he feels cold and tense, and scared. For god’s  _ sake _ , he feels bloody afraid.

“We should talk first,” Draco says. 

Sobering up, he tries to contain himself and to gather his courage, a bravery that doesn’t come easily to him. 

But he needs it. 

They stay in the car and Draco starts to talk. His heart beats fast, the emotions getting the best of him. He admits to being afraid and Harry holds his hand and Draco is unsure but Harry is unrelenting. Holding on and holding tight, keeping Draco here inside this car and not in his mind wracked with nightmares. 

So he tells him. 

“You saved me, Harry”. 

_ And here it goes, _ he thinks and tells Harry, about when they met and the state he was in. And he sees how Harry’s eyes shine and sudden understanding comes over him.

And Draco is afraid—he’s so bloody afraid that he is crying now. His heart beats loudly in his ears and his body shakes with barely contained sobs. 

And  _ this is it _ , he thinks,  _ this is how it ends _ . 

Before starting. 

_ It ends before it even begins. _

And Draco’s heart is already broken. 

“Look at me, Draco,” Harry asks with a small voice, and it’s so beautiful. Gods, his voice is the most beautiful sound Draco has ever heard. “Please, look at my bright green eyes and say it.  _ Trust _ me,” Harry pleads.

So Draco opens his eyes. Feeling vulnerable, feeling seen, feeling distraught and raw. 

He thinks of Remus, and his lover; he thinks of having the hope of love. He thinks of hours-long therapy sessions to aid in accepting his condition. 

Draco takes a moment to gather the strength, the hope, the courage from deep inside this body that feels so much despite carrying a virus. 

He breathes out and he breathes in. And Harry is holding his face now, so Draco moves, bringing his hands to Harry’s wrists and holding him tight, anchoring himself in the feeling of having Harry under his touch. 

And it does the trick—it strengthens Draco’s decision. He feels resolute for the first time since receiving that bloody positive result. 

“I’m HIV-positive, Harry.” Draco says. 

Unlike all the times he imagined it, he says it firmly. Not scared, not trembling, not crying. He says it as it is. 

Because it’s his truth, his story to tell; so he tells it and leaves the choice in Harry’s hand to decide. 

“Thanks for telling me, Draco.” Harry’s voice doesn’t waiver either.

Their gaze holds. It’s intense. Harry’s bright green eyes dance under the yellowish light, full of emotions that Draco is not sure how to read. 

Draco feels raw and naked, but it’s there now, in the air. Harry is unmoving; he does not move away or let go of Draco’s face. 

_ No _ . 

He stays. 

He fucking  _ stays _ . 

And Draco doesn’t know what it means. But here he is.

“Draco, I’m going to kiss you now,” Harry warns. 

But there’s no time for Draco to make sense of the words, because Harry’s lips are on his pressing. And it’s not a soft kiss, not a chaste peck.

_ No. _

His lips are firm against Draco’s and his fingers weave into Draco’s hair. And everything inside of Draco is aflame. Everything ignites and he soars, opening up to the kiss and moving forward.

He sinks his fingers into Harry’s messy hair and grips. Harry moans against his mouth, opening up, and Draco plunges his tongue inside. 

He doesn’t remember last time he kissed someone, but here he is, their tongues dancing in a frenzy rhythm, discovering patterns and taste and texture. And it’s delicious.

Harry tastes delicious, and they kiss and kiss and kiss, and Draco feels light-headed and delighted. Because it feels like a dream, like a fucking Christmass miracle. 

Harry sucks on his tongue, dirty and delicious, and Draco feels himself hardening inside his pants. He feels arousal pooling inside his body and he’s desperate for more. 

Draco moves, without thinking, because inside his body everything is short-circuiting and he feels touch-starved and he needs more.

“More,” Draco rasps, moving forward and closing his arms around Harry’s neck, and Harry is moaning into the kiss and pressing back. His hands slide down Draco’s back and pull him closer until their chests are pressing against each other and there’s no space between them. 

_ There’s no space between them. _

And Draco moans back, biting softly at Harry’s bottom lip, sucking on it and licking a path down to Harry’s chin, mouthing open kisses against his stubble, biting his jaw. Harry feels delicious and smells even better and Draco could eat him whole. 

“ _ Draco _ ,” he chants his name, again and again. “Oh  _ fuck _ -” Harry hisses, with Draco’s teeth against his earlobe, and Draco smiles, feeling complete, feeling alive. So bloody alive. 

He’s making Harry sound like this. This is his doing and it feels bloody amazing. He never thought he would be able to feel like this again and at the same time, the feeling feels so new. Like a first, like a gift, like starting over.

Harry gasps, with Draco’s fingers in his hair and his tongue against the soft shell of his ear. And he gasps again, pressing strong fingers against Draco’s back, grabbing onto his coat, one hand travelling up to pull Draco’s hair, pushing him backwards. He breaks Draco’s exploration to look fervently into his eyes, and Draco has never seen a deeper shade of green, before Harry’s mouth is on him again, this time against his throat, licking and sucking and marking him with soft bruises. 

“ _ Mmm! _ ” Draco moans, his cock hard inside his jeans and his fingers gripping on Harry’s hair. 

Eyes open, fixed on the ceiling of the car and feeling feverish and high.

Harry explores his skin with his tongue—his breath is scorching hot against Draco’s flesh and it’s too much, but still not enough. He will pass out from arousal and he may come in his pants, so he laughs of how unbelievable this is. 

He laughs. It’s a ragged sound that rips the silence of the car under Harry’s ministrations. A laughter that comes from so deep inside him it may cut him open and make him bleed. 

_ Unbelievable _ . This is fucking  _ unbelievable _ . That Harry is kissing him and touching him and loving him and marking him.  _ Unbelievable _ that even knowing the truth, Harry is still here. 

His heart aches in tender spaces Draco hasn’t felt before and his laugh breaks into a sob. The pleasure of Harry’s mouth on him is too much, and his lips tremble with another sob and Harry is there. His mouth swallows Draco’s sobs and his tongue eases Draco’s pain. 

He shakes, shakes and kisses back and it feels wet, the kiss and Harry’s tongue and Draco’s face. Because suddenly there are tears and Harry slowly stops kissing him. Moving their mouths slowly apart while continuing to embrace Draco, Harry leans his forehead against Draco’s and breathes deeply.

Draco shakes, realising he’s crying, that his laughter turned into sobs because he’s crying. 

“Draco,” Harry whispers his name and pulls him into a hug, strong and warm and welcoming. 

And Draco allows himself this moment, this breakdown in the arms of the man he loves, gasping and sobbing against the curve of Harry’s neck. 

And Harry holds him. Without letting go.

-

In the end, both of them cry, holding onto each other like a lifeline, too afraid to move and discover it is a dream. But they do move. They buy hot cocoa with marshmallow toppings and sit back inside the car. 

And Harry listens to Draco’s story. The whole of it.

His curiosity of knowing how friends and family deal with HIV-positive friends and partners, how he needed to be reassured that there was still life to be lived.

Draco tells him everything, about therapy and medication, about his friends and his mum. And Harry tells him more about how he manages with his god-dad Moony, about prevention and protection. He asks Draco about his viral load, about specifics.

Draco has only talked about this with Rolf and Pansy, as Pansy as a nurse understands the medical jargons. So it is nice to be able to talk to Harry about this. He tells him about how much weight he has lost and how he feels shit looking at the mirror still, but it’s getting better. 

They talk for hours, until the cold inside the car is a bit too much, hot cocoas long finished. So they snog for what feels like a lifetime and yet not long enough, and they laugh at how much they wanted this. They share whispers about each other, about how much they want and wish and crave. And they laugh secretly. 

Touching, kissing, hugging.

Until it’s very late and Harry has work in the morning. So Harry drives him home. 

“This is where you live?” he asks softly after parking the car.

“Yeah...” Draco whispers. He wants to ask if Harry wants to come in, but he knows if they start they won’t stop and they have already decided they should slow down for today. 

_ It's way too much _ , Draco had said, before they started driving to his place. And Harry agreed. 

So they know that, for today, this is it. This is all for now.

_ Slow down _ , he begs his panicky heart.

“So, call me tomorrow during your break?” he asks sheepishly.

“Yes!” Harry laughs, pulling Draco into a long, passionate kiss.

And Draco watches the car drive away before getting inside his flat.

His whole body tingles. There’s such a happiness and a hope inside his chest he’s sure he will combust out of excitement. He laughs going up the stairs.

Once he opens the door, he sees Pansy, Theo and Blaise on his sofa, sipping beer and looking at him expectantly. It’s past midnight and he can’t believe Pansy got him an assembly of friends. 

They stare at him in silence and Draco understands they want to know how things went. 

He’s suddenly aware they don’t know how Harry reacted and that the past four hours were just between him and Harry. But the world kept turning and people’s lives kept going.

So he laughs at their tensed expressions and nods. 

And, suddenly, they are jumping from the sofa and pulling him into a group hug that feels ridiculous and perfect at the same time. And when Blaise’s eyes focus on him, there’s care and concern. They smile at each other while Pansy and Theo go grab wine glasses in the tiny kitchen. 

“No more lies, Draco—not to me and not to Harry. Deal?” Blaise asks with his velvety voice and deep, dark eyes. 

“Deal, old man,” Draco says, hugging Blaise and laughing.

And they spend one more hour drinking and listening to Draco dishing every single detail he can muster. 

When Draco falls in his bed, the flat now empty, his soul feels too big inside his body. He can’t stop smiling and he doesn’t want to let his mind wander into negativity. So he reminds himself of every single bit of this evening. Every single detail of Harry’s face, and voice, and taste. He memorises it, playing it over and over again until he falls asleep, thinking of kissing Harry, with his bright green eyes, wild hair and olive skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are nearing the end, my darlings, and I have NO WORDS to describe the feeling of finishing writing this little dragon-monster of a fic lol it’s such a pleasure to see this story out of my brain and into the screen and shared with you all.  
> It means a lot to me, honestly. Haven’t written so much and steady for YEARS. Since 2011, if I’m not wrong. Thank you to all of you who are reading and commenting and giving me kudos and love.  
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!! :D  
> The comfort bit finally arrives to this blasted story. Y'all. I'm so glad I'm weeping ;_; love, tai :3


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: woolen socks
> 
> Watch out for cuteness overload <3

* * *

_ “Those who only believe in the visible have a very small world. Dragons do not fit in these small worlds with inviolable walls for invisible things.” C.F.A. _

* * *

Sirius is sitting in the kitchen when Harry arrives. Harry laughs to himself, leaning against the door jamb. It’s like they switched roles. Sirius is not having tea though, he’s sipping on his Irish whisky quietly, fingers playing with a cigarette without lighting it. 

“Hey,” Harry announces himself. 

Actually, he knows Sirius obviously heard him, but he seems lost in thought. 

Sirius looks up at him and smiles softly. 

“Sometimes I hate that you’re all grown up, pup,” he whispers, his voice a bit hoarse. 

“Is everything okay?” Harry asks, roles reversed.

“That's my line, not yours,” Sirius laughs, reproaching him but with such tenderness. “Do you want a glass?”

Harry nods. 

“Where is Moony?”

“Went to bed.”

“Did you two have a fight?”

Sirius pours Harry a double.

“Nah. He only thinks I’m overly protective of you.”

“Not wrong, is he?” Harry teases.

“Not wrong,” Sirius agrees with an easy smile. 

But he still looks gloomy, his grey eyes dull. Harry recognises that look from the weeks Remus spent at the hospital.

“But you did fight, didn’t you?”

“It was a stupid argument.” Sirius waves a hand dismissively. “Now, tell me about Draco, I’ve been staying awake to get the details. How was it?”

Sirius smiles at him, leading Harry to the French doors in the far back of the kitchen. They open them and sit on the steps with their glasses of whisky and a cigarette, looking out at the small garden.

Harry takes a deep breath. 

“He is gorgeous,” he starts, a stupid smile on his face while Sirius watches him with a happy expression. “And, he’s HIV-positive, that’s why he lied.”

Sirius’s lips press tight into a thin line and his perfect eyebrows go up.

“I see.” 

“Is it going to be a problem?” Harry asks. “Because I already decided to give us a go, and we are both on the same page,” he adds in a hurry. “I really like him, Sirius, and I know everything about protection and about HIV and everything else that I should know to date him responsibly. And Draco is really, _ really _ great. And sensitive, and he was so scared, Pads. He cried, you know. And said he was afraid, said that maybe I shouldn’t hold his hand, as if I wouldn’t want to hold his hand because he is positive, you know? And he was, argh, I don’t know. But then we kissed an—”

“You kissed?” Sirius asks gravely, cutting Harry’s monologue. 

“Yeah,” Harry bites his lip and scratches the back of his neck, seeing Sirius’ expression turn from worried to teasing.

“Was it nice?” Sirius probes.

“Was it nice?” Harry repeats and laughs. “It was bloody brilliant!” He beams and Sirius ruffles Harry’s hair. 

He takes a long drag on his fag and takes a sip of his drink. 

“Of course it’s not going to be a problem, Harry.” Sirius mutters with a small smile. “I trust you to take good care of yourself and be responsible.”

Harry nods, glad that Sirius is being amenable. 

“But,” he adds and Harry tenses, “you better let me talk to Remus, okay?”

“Why?”

Sirius smiles sadly, takes another drag of his cigarette and blows the cloud of smoke out in the cold air. 

“He’ll probably feel like you deserve to live your life without these kinds of worries,” he explains, cocking his head to one side and watching Harry gently. “You grew up so fast, Prongslet,” he mutters, clearing his throat. “Your dad would be very proud of you, Harry.”

Warmth spreads inside Harry’s chest. “Thanks, dad,” he whispers to Sirius and Sirius responds with one of his little winks, smiling broadly.

“Tell me more about your Draco-boy,” he prompts. 

“Argh, Pads, he is  _ so _ sexy!”

Sirius laughs.

“Aye! That’s my boy.”

“You are such a perverted old man!” Harry laughs.

“Yes I am, very proud of it, too,” he says, finishing his cigarette and putting it out in an empty can by the back steps.

“You know, you and Moony always say Dad would be proud of me,” he says and Sirius looks at him, surprised with the turn of topic. “But I’m sure he is proud of the two of you, for taking such good care of me.”

“Oh, Harry,” Sirius mutters, his voice wet, pulling him into a hug. “You mean the world to me, pup.”

\-----

There’s a lot of tension at home. 

Harry knows that Sirius is right and that he will need to give a bit of space for Remus to  _ deal with his own demons, _ as Sirius put it earlier today. But it’s hard to see Moony contemplatively watching out of the window, his eyes sad and distant. 

He asks himself why they don’t talk, just talk, like adults. But the two times Harry approached him—in the morning after breakfast before going to work, and late afternoon when Remus dropped into the bookshop to get some documents before going to the bank— Moony smiled sadly at him, patted his shoulder and left the room. 

So he doesn’t know how to deal with Remus dealing with his own demons. Harry can’t quite understand why Remus is having issues with the fact Draco is HIV-positive. It’s rather confusing, in Harry’s opinion, and he wants to throw a tantrum and to tell Remus to stop being an arse. 

But Remus is not being an arse at all. He’s only gloom and contemplative and distant. Which is terrible, because Harry has a lot of abandonment issues; he thought he had worked through that shit with therapy for the greater part of his life, but seeing Remus giving him the cold shoulder is very upsetting. 

It makes Harry feel like he disappointed Moony. 

He keeps texting Draco on his phone and feeling anxious because they have their first date tonight, and he wishes he could brag about it with his godfathers but now it feels wrong. 

He’s itchy under his own skin. So he texts Luna instead and spends the better part of what is left of his shift talking to her about date plans and gossiping about Draco.

Luna is over the moon about it, being sweet as always and mentioning how life works in mysterious ways and something weird about family constellations and how sometimes we repeat the stories our parents lived and he laughs, wet and emotional over the phone, talking to her and walking towards the car against the freezing wind. 

“Isn’t it amazing?” she asks excitedly on the other side of the line. “You are repeating your gaydads’ story!”

And Harry feels tender. Not only because she is right, and maybe he is a bit like Sirius right now and Draco is playing Remus’s part, but also tender because he loves when Luna calls them his gaydads instead of goddads as he used to say when he was a kid. 

And he sighs heavily, thinking about Remus and his demons, about Sirius saying his father would be proud of who he is. And he wants Sirius to be right. Harry wants Remus to come around quickly so he can share with him his happiness and his concerns as he always has.

“It’s beautiful, Luna.”

That evening, Draco takes Harry to dinner at his favourite Thai restaurant. Then they chat under the Christmas lights in the city centre and take bad pictures together in front of some Christmas decoration. 

It is cheesy and perfect and Harry has never felt so happy in his life.

“Explain it again?” Harry asks, looking deep into Draco’s eyes.

“I needed to know there was life after getting an HIV-positive result,” Draco says, wistful and tender, hair shining under the lights, his body pressed gently to Harry’s against the cold. “I needed to understand how friends, family and lovers lived the experience. I thought there was only loneliness waiting for me. I wanted to know if they still loved us after all.”

“Of course we do,” Harry mutters back, pressing his lips against the corner of Draco’s mouth. “You deserve so much love, so much life...”

And they kiss under the mistletoe.

Draco tells him about his friends and about thinking of going back to university next fall, to finish his master’s in journalism. They talk about books and Harry gazes at Draco with devotion. He can’t believe Draco is there with him. It feels like a dream, and he doesn’t want to miss a thing.

He buries his nose in the warm curve of Draco’s neck and breathes him in, all lemony and delicious. He shivers and kisses softly at his skin as Draco’s hand holds the nape of his neck softly, humming at Harry and kissing his temple. 

It’s easy. 

It’s much easier than Harry had expected and much more beautiful. The way Draco looks at his eyes with intention, the way he holds his hand firmly as they walk to a mulled wine cart to buy hot drinks. Harry watches his long pale fingers while he rolls a fag and observes his movements as he presses the rollie to his lips and takes a long drag. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, kissing Draco’s lips again, unable to stop, stealing the smoke into his own mouth and pressing his tongue in. Draco’s tongue is warm and wet and a bit bitter with tobacco and mulled wine. 

“No, Harry,  _ you _ are beautiful,” Draco mutters back against his lips. “Stop stealing my lines!” He playfully pushes Harry’s shoulder and Harry laughs. “I’m just skinny and pointy,” Draco adds, kissing him softly and then going back to his cigarette. 

“I like skinny and pointy,” he says cheesy. In love. Oh god,  _ so _ in love. 

And they continue walking down the street, surrounded by the mass of people that have no idea who they are or what their story is, holding hands under the lights and whispering to each other about Christmas plans.

It’s so easy Harry can’t believe it's actually happening. He feels alive and warm and content. 

He drops Draco at his place, both kind of unable to stop touching each other and kissing desperately. But Draco says they should slow down a bit, that he needs time to adjust, because this is new to him. And because he dreads the next steps, and he wants to do things properly.

“It scares me,” Draco explains, holding Harry’s hands. “These feelings,” he says so quietly. “I feel like they’ll drown me, as if...” He laughs softly, one hand touching Harry’s cheek. “As if these waters are too deep,” he keeps saying, all poetic and awkward and gorgeous. His hair is tucked under a deep green beanie that matches his gloves. “And I’m scared of doing more than just kissing you, because it feels different... With you, it has meaning and... I’ve never felt like this about anyone else.”

And Harry’s heart beats fast. Because it feels meaningful, to have Draco admitting it. Because Harry has been in love before. With Ginny, with Neji, with Oliver. But not like this—not the way he feels about Draco. 

He smiles at the confession. 

“It feels different to me too. As if I met you a million lifetimes ago and it makes it even more—even deeper...” he says and Draco flushes.

“I’ve never had a proper boyfriend. I—hah,” Draco laughs, nervous.

“Is this what we are now, boyfriends?” Harry asks breathlessly, watching Draco’s cheeks flush a deeper rosy colour that suits him, looking a bit shy and nervous all of a sudden. 

Draco shrugs, looking around them inside the car and blinking fast.

“If you would like to...” Draco tries, sheepish and tense at the same time. 

“Yes,” Harry presses, smiling and chasing Draco’s lips again. He can’t stop it; it’s stronger than him, this need to keep touching, making sure it’s real, to keep quieting this tiny voice inside his head that keeps chanting it’s not going to work. “I would really like that,” he breathes, licking into Draco’s mouth. 

And the kisses go on in the cold of the car, desperate, until Draco holds Harry’s face in his thin long hands as he smiles fondly. 

“Boyfriend,” Draco says gently. “Yes, I like how it sounds.” He smiles at Harry and presses a soft kiss to his swollen lips, nuzzling his nose against Harry’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, boyfriend.”

And Harry laughs, a bit breathless and a bit high. 

\---

Sirius is restocking the bookshelf with a few new novels when Harry decides he can’t take it anymore. 

“I have another date with Draco tonight,” he says, loud enough that maybe Remus will overhear it from the back office where he's been hiding the whole afternoon. 

“Ohhh, and where are you going to go?” Sirius asks, waggling his eyebrows in a rather suggestive way. 

“I’m taking him to Dean’s art gallery, there’s a photo exhibition.”

Sirius smiles fondly, organising the books on the shelf.

“Sounds sweet, Harry.”

But Harry is not buying it—he rounds the desk and walks up to Sirius. 

“Why is he acting like this, Pads?” he asks directly, nodding to the back office, to Remus.

Sirius sighs, pressing a hand hard against his eyes.

“It’s hard for him, Harry. He’s scared.”

“Scared that I will not use protection?” he inquires hotly—it’s really starting to upset him.

When Harry came out at 16 as bisexual—when he had a fling with an exchange student from Mahoutokoro that came to Hogwarts for an semester—he overheard Sirius freaking out and asking Remus if it was their fault. And Remus, the paragon of good reason, told Sirius that the only thing they might have done was to keep Harry open-minded, but that they have definitely not turned him queer. 

He never had any issues regarding his partners with Remus before. Sirius was the one to freak out about Harry’s bisexuality, to be upset about how much older Oliver was. But not Moony—Moony was always steady and understanding. So it feels weird and wrong to start now with Draco being HIV-positive. 

Because so is Remus. 

It makes no sense to Harry.

Sirius shakes his head. 

“He is scared something could go wrong, yes. He is scared of Draco hurting your feelings or the other way around. He is scared of how you guys will manage it. He is scared just like every other day of his life, but this time is not only about me as it has always been. He’s now scared for you too.”

And Harry thinks he should try talking to Remus later tonight, or tomorrow before  _ Wilde Wednesday, _ because he doesn’t want Remus to feel scared. 

“Alright,” he says, and lets it go for the day. 

So Harry takes Draco to the art gallery where Dean works. There’s an exhibition of photographs of homeless folk, and written pieces about their stories and a movement called Housing First that provides housing for the homeless and offers them a fresh start. 

“Hey Dean, this is Draco, my boyfriend,” he says, after they perused the rooms.

“Nice to meet you,” Dean grins. 

And they go about talking about social issues and it’s good. It’s cool to see his Draco interacting with his real-life friends. It’s also weird, how his worlds—that used to be kept in different bubbles, online and real-life—are colliding and adjusting.

“I did my undergrad thesis, a journalistic reporting, about street sex workers,” Draco says, and explains about his research on their stories and how they got a small aid fund in the end, how some of them had experienced homelessness and the conversation rolls on naturally.

They have drinks at the pub with Dean and Seamus (though Seamus told Harry that Draco sounded really posh with that accent, but seemed like a nice lad). They laugh and share embarrassing school stories about Harry that makes him blush and swear at them, and Draco laughs, fascinated, his grey eyes shining with curiosity, as if he wants to drink up as much information on Harry’s teenage years as he can. 

“I was a snobby little shit,” Draco says when Harry is driving him home, back in the car.

“What? When?”

“In school.”

“No way!”

“Seriously,” Draco laughs, a bit embarrassed. “I was raised in a certain way, you know, and I was in boarding school with all the rich kids... I was such a bully. It’s terrible, honestly.”

“You were a bully?”

“Yeah,” he laughs harder. “I would probably have bullied you and your gay dads,” he says taking a deep breath. “I used to bully this boy, Neville. Poor thing, just because he was fat and clumsy, you know. But then, at sixteen, he started getting all muscular and beefy, firm long legs, strong arms... well, then I bullied him even more until he started fighting back. At some point, we had a fist fight and I had to run away from it because I got embarrassingly hard.”

Harry parks the car in front of Draco’s flat. 

“Wait, you bullied him even more because you had the hots for him?” he asks, surprised.

“Yeah. See, I have a distant cousin that was disinherited for being gay, so in my family, it’s not something acceptable...” 

“I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine now. Mum is being really nice. She said she always knew about me, but didn’t want to broach the topic.”

Harry nods, watching him. 

“When did you realise?”

“Oh,” Draco frowns. “At fifteen. But more so after the fight fiasco, honestly. Because after that I couldn’t keep lying to myself and I ended up telling one of my friends. I told Blaise—makes sense, he was even gayer than I was back then and we,” he laughs embarrassed. “We experimented a bit in the boys’ dormitory.”

“Wait, Draco,” Harry stops him. “You are telling me you had a thing with Blaise?”

“It was never a ‘thing’, it was friendly experimentation!” he corrects, blushing and shaking his head.

“How long did that experimentation last?”

“Two years? Then we went to different universities, and in journalism school, there are plenty of queer men, I will let you know,” he sniffs. 

Harry laughs at it. 

“So you and Blaise were never...”

“No,” Draco cuts him, smiling softly. “Never like that, no. We fucked a few times, at parties, but, it was just for fun. He’s a very close friend, though.”

Harry nods. The idea of Draco and Blaise fucking makes his insides churn with a mix of jealousy and arousal. 

“Okay,” he relents. 

“Do you wanna hang out tomorrow?” Draco asks, yawning. He looks tired, and Harry feels tired too. 

“I have to work late tomorrow, it’s  _ Wilde Wednesday _ , the queer reading group. Do you wanna come?” Harry invites, suddenly nervous about Remus and Draco in the same room.

“No, it’s fine, my friends are already nagging me about spending every evening with you. We can meet up Thursday.”

“Fair enough.”

So they kiss goodnight and Harry goes back home to find Remus and Sirius in the living room watching Star Wars. It’s just past eleven and they are on the sofa, under the blankets, wearing matching woollen socks. 

“Hey, Harry, how was your date?” Padfoot asks with a soft smile, pausing the movie. 

“It was fun,” he smiles back. 

“That’s good, Harry,” Remus says in a small voice, looking at Harry with a conflicted expression. “Would you like to finish watching the movie with us? I’ll make us some tea.”

“Yeah, Dad, I’d really like that.”

Remus kisses his hair as he walks towards the kitchen to make tea and get them some biscuits and chocolate. And the rest of the evening is lovely. 

He sits by Remus and Remus passes him another pair of matching woollen socks. Then he plays with Harry’s hair, fingers soft and warm while they watch Star Wars. Harry thinks that, with time, Remus will come around. Harry knows he’s trying. 

But sometimes, dealing with one’s demons is not easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wishing you all a very fluffy christmas! <3


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: hedgehog mittens/gloves
> 
> (Watch out for a POV change in the second scene)

* * *

_"Because I couldn't sleep or eat, waiting for him. 'Now, now I'm going to be happy', I thought all the time with hysterical certainty. Until the smell of rosemary, mint, started to get stronger, then, one day, it would slide like a breeze under the door and settle slowly in the hallway, on the living room sofa, in the bathroom, on my bed. He had arrived." C.F.A._

* * *

Draco’s body is electrified with excited energy. He can’t remember the last time he felt so good. It’s surreal—having Harry in his life is changing everything. Harry is soft and tender and cheesy, and Draco’s heart feels like it's going to explode in big waves of tenderness. 

He has never been so happy in his life. 

Blaise spent brunch making stupid jokes about it, like it’s some kind of big joke, like the universe is taking the piss. But his dark eyes shine with something sweet, something that kept making Draco smile broadly at him.

He thinks about all these months. How Blaise saw his mood swings and his dark moments and how the shadows of sadness hued his dark brown eyes. And seeing him now, so delighted at Draco’s cheesy love story, is like seeing his own happiness reflected in his friend’s face. 

It’s beautiful, though very embarrassing to have him making fun of how in love Draco is.

Draco feels young and bold and carefree and alive. 

And Blaise laughs at him as they speak about Draco wanting to take things slow with Harry. 

“It’s scary,” Draco admits. “I dunno if I’ll be able to enjoy sex while I’m thinking the condom will break.”

“C’mon, old man,” Blaise chastises. “It’s not like the man will be hung like a horse and the condom will break,” he adds with a teasing eyebrow going up. “Or is he?”

“Shut up!” Draco flushes. 

He doesn't know if Harry is hung like a horse. He doesn’t think he is; well, at least it didn’t feel this big when Draco rubbed him a bit over the jeans last night. 

Theo finally shows up, a bit late for brunch but they go for a walk in the park anyway, the three of them this time. Theo looks casual and comfortable while Blaise talks about gay relationships with gusto, which is a bit of a novelty because Theo always blushes a bit. Draco wonders if seeing him happy is making Theo more at ease in general. 

It’s fun to see Theo laughing along as Blaise says he read that rimming is kind of safe for HIV-positive people— _just in case you wanna know, Draco_.

“What is rimming?” Theo asks, curious.

Draco laughs and Blaise stares incredulously at Theo as if he had grown a second head.

“What? I don’t know what it is,” he explains, rolling a joint and shrugging.

“Well, Theodore, I wouldn’t mind showing you,” Blaise plays along, voice smooth and velvety and Draco cackles, seeing Theo finally flush at the offer. “It’s when someone kisses and licks your arse, Theo. Quite enjoyable, if you wanna know my humble opinion.”

And Theo howls, laughing and flushing and throwing the tobacco pack at Blaise’s face. 

“You are terrible, Zabini!”

They cackle like teenagers, as if happiness is something contagious and the fact that Draco is happy makes them happy as well.

Maybe that’s what friendship really is: being happy or sad when your friends are happy or sad. Draco’s chest warms at the thought.

“So, I have something coming up on the 20th,” he says boldly. “It’s a queer literature reading event, and I’m going to be reading some of my things. So I was wondering if you guys would like to come along,” Draco invites them cheerfully.

“You’ve taken writing back up again?” Theo exclaims, surprised.

“Yeah, I’ve been writing quite a lot lately, so I sent some of my things to one of the publishing houses and they invited me.”

“That’s amazing!” Blaise exclaims. “I would love to, count me in.”

“Same!” Theo smiles. 

Suddenly, it's like Draco is finding his footing in life again, slowly and steadily. And it’s beautiful—it's amazing and he loves it. He feels alive in a way that is truthful to himself. He doesn’t know when or how it started, but it’s happening and he couldn’t be more pleased. He thinks maybe there’s not only hope for love, but also hope for happiness, hope for life. 

Hope for the future. 

\---

Sirius doesn't like revisiting his past. It's like poking on a tender wound that never healed quite properly. He shuffles uncomfortably at his seat as Narcissa sits primly on the posh armchair of the tea house. 

They sit in tense silence and Sirius sighs. 

“What can I do for you?” he asks, unable to hold the silence any longer. 

Narcissa looks good. The years have made her features a bit softer, her cold steely eyes still look too sharp and too cold, but there are some kind wrinkles at the edges that make the sharpness smudge into something like amiability. 

Amiability has never been something Sirius used to describe traits of the Black family—not even when he thought of Andromeda.

“Thank you for meeting with me, I know it was a surprise.” Her posh accent makes him shiver with memories of times that Sirius doesn’t want to be reminded of.

“Yes, it was,” he concedes. He wants her to get to the point so he can leave. “Is this about my mother?”

“Oh, no.” With her thin lips, she looks conflicted. Her tailored light blue suit match her earrings, and her manicured hands take the tea cup with care. Swift moves, as they were thought once upon a time, in a lifetime Sirius feels so detached from. 

“Can you get to the point, Cissy?” he asks, carding his fingers through his long hair and pulling a strand behind his ear. He feels out of sorts. He feels tense and gloomy and he wants it to end. 

She nods curtly and takes a deep breath. 

“My son is homosexual, Sirius,” Narcissa says, her voice low and careful. 

Sirius takes a deep breath himself. A dark cloud of pain crosses his mind, chest constricting. _Disgrace. Shaming the proud house of Black. Disgrace. Raised better than this. Disgrace. Shirt-lifting little shit. Disgrace—_

“I don’t have an issue with this,” she adds, quickly. “But I also don’t have anyone who can relate with his experience in my circle of friends and acquaintances. And I don’t want to make the mistake that was done to you.”

 _Disgrace. How dare you? Disgrace. How could you do this to your mother? Disgrace. Your poor cousin, exposed to your dirtiness! Disgrace. You have half an hour to pack and leave! Disgrace. I don’t want to see your face ever again! Disgrace. You’re no son of mine. Disgrace!_

“Sirius,” her voice calls him back and Sirius takes hold of his tea cup with shaky fingers. “I’m sorry to make you revisit our family story,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t any better back then.”

“You were shit,” he spits, before taking a sip to calm himself. “You were all shit.” His voice is firm now, and he feels sorry for Narcissa’s son. 

“Yes I was, we all were. You are right,” she agrees.

It’s weird to hear her admitting it. It feels out of place, out of time, way too late. 

“But I don’t want to make him go through this. So I need help.” Narcissa looks him dead in the eyes. She is resolute, her tone firm and decided. “Would you help me?”

Sirius stares at her, dumbfounded. 

“How?”

“He’s HIV-positive, Sirius,” she whispers—there’s fear in her voice now. 

Sirius sighs, the anger he’d felt deflating into a mix of concern and tenderness.

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-four.”

“When did he—”

“Almost six months ago, now. He only told me a few weeks ago, and then I called you.”

“I see.”

The silence is no longer uncomfortable. It feels like it creates a tiny delicate bridge between them, a sliver of a possibility of reconnection. 

Weird, how the universe works. Weider still, how long-lost family members can come together in moments like this. 

“Is he getting support? Medical, psychological?”

“Yes,” she nods. “I was really scared, so I’ve been doing some research on the internet to understand it better. But I fear—I don’t—Sorry...” Her voice cracks.

Narcissa’s chin trembles, it’s a tiny, measured, controlled motion. She holds in the tears, but presses the cloth napkin against her lips for a moment, giving herself time to gather her composure. 

“Take your time, Cissy,” he listens to himself saying. Feeling like she doesn’t deserve the kindness, not after everything, but knowing how hard it can be and feeling like she needs it. “It’s not easy to digest.”

Narcissa nods, licks her lips and sniffs softly.

“Thank you,” she mutters. “I’ve read a lot and I keep feeling I know nothing. I want to be there for him, Sirius. I don’t want him to feel like he is alone. It took him five months to tell me. It was the first time he brought up his homosexuality, actually, as if I wouldn’t have noticed.”

Sirius takes the information in. The poor kid. He can imagine the fear.

“He knows about you, about you being disinherited so long ago, so I think he thought—”

She stops again, bringing the napkin once again to her lips. 

“What we did to you was atrocious. I know it now. And to think he thought we would do the same to him...It pains me. I may have my own issues, and I do make lots of mistakes, but I would never do that to him.” 

Narcissa looks at him fiercely. 

“I’m reaching out to you in the hopes that you may be amenable to help me learn. I know your partner is HIV-positive, Andromeda told me once, a long time ago. And I hope I can maybe be a better person to you as well.” Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “I’m very sorry Sirius, but I had no strength back then to protect you, nor the capability or critical thinking, or the open-mindedness to see homosexuality as something normal. I was young and prejudiced and weak.”

Sirius swallows hard, his throat bitter and constricted. 

“Thanks for saying that.” 

Narcisa gives a small nod.

“But Sirius, it is different now. I know better now, and it’s my son. I won’t let his father or anyone in the family treat him like they treated you. Nowadays, I have the knowledge and the means to stand up for him. But I will need your help.”

He takes a deep breath. Emotions are swimming inside of him. He feels sad that no one cared for him back then like Narcissa cares for her son. He feels proud of her for being a much better mother than Walburga or Druella ever were. He feels acknowledged by her asking him for help.

“Fine,” Sirius concedes, voice tight. “I’ll help, but not for you. For him. No one deserves to go through what I've been. And this kid will need family, and he will need people who he can relate to—gay people, queer people, HIV-positive people.”

“Are you—?” She breaks mid questions and blinks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, I am not, Cissy,” he says, calmly. A weird tenderness possesses him, a wave of emotion at the idea that she _cares_ about his health. “I’ve been with Remus for twenty-six years now, and I’ve never got a positive test in my life. Your son will need guidance and support. _This_ I can do for him. But it’s not for you.”

Her lips tremble again and a tear slides down her right cheek as she nods and dries it with the napkin. 

“That’s really kind of you, Sirius,” she says politely. “I’ll be forever grateful.”

Sirius nods. 

“What is his name?” he asks.

“Draco.” 

She says with a smile and Sirius gapes at her. He cannot believe this shit.

“Your son Draco is gay and HIV-piositive?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“Yes, Sirius, why?”

This is fucking crazy.

He barks out a loud laugh, throwing his head back, shoulders shaking with the incredulity of how destiny makes intricate knots while knitting lifetimes.

“Fuck, Narcissa.” He smiles brightly at her. “Sounds like we will need to get over our past, dear cousin.”

“What are you talking about, Sirius? And can you please lower your voice.” Her voice tightens, looking around.

And it emboldens him even further. He tosses his hair theatrically and the most flamboyant way possible just to get a rise from her. 

“Because, my darling Cissy, your son Draco is dating my godson Harry,” he beams.

Universe is actually a motherfucker. Sirius loves it. 

“Draco has a boyfriend?” she asks, surprised.

“Fear not, he has _the best_ boyfriend!” he concedes. “Curious, how we end up being family again anyways. I cannot believe I’ll need to put up with you, Cissy, but we’ll manage.”

She stares at him for a long moment, silent, eyes intent. And then, slowly, a warm, relieved smile forms on her lips. Her eyes start shining, this time with mirth. 

“I’m glad Sirius, because I have no idea where to start and I’m really scared for him.”

Her voice cracks a bit and she fusses with the napkin. 

“You’re going to do just fine,” Sirius says, feeling warmth for her, overwhelming tenderness. “You are already doing it perfectly, actually, though it pains me to admit it. Asking for help is a good first step.”

She nods, a sheepish smile on her lips. 

“Have you met him then?” she asks, curiosity sparking in her grey eyes.

“No, not yet. It’s an early development.”

“Oh here, I have a picture of him in my purse. Draco is the most handsome, you will see, he has the Black eyes,” she says, laughing proudly and reaching for her purse. “Do you have a photo of Harry? I’m curious now.” 

Narcissa sounds utterly young and joyful. It’s nice to see her like this. Sirius understands. She probably hasn’t talked about any of this with anyone else. She is lonely.

Narcissa Malfoy is totally lonely in this blasted journey.

Sirius knows a lot about loneliness and lack of family support. So he sighs deeply, already giving in, deciding that Narcissa will be his personal project. She has never been his favourite cousin, but Andromeda fucked off to Cuba a year after he was kicked out of Grimmauld Place. So she will do.

Sirius laughs stupidly, feeling something deep inside him growing. 

She holds a photo out to him, but as he takes it, he holds her hand softly. 

“Buckle up, Cissy, I’ll be the best gay cousin you ever had. And next Pride, you will be by my side, with your gay, HIV-positive son, feeling damn proud of our queer family.”

It’s decided. And Sirius is stubborn as all hell. He can already see her, with a high-quality glittery rainbow t-shirt. It’s going to be the best revenge. And Sirius’s bigoted father will turn and scream in his ugly posh grave.

He smiles dangerously at her and Narcissa laughs, and she sounds lovely.

Sirius is on a mission.

\----

Draco sits at his Friday therapy group and listens intently as Remus talks about his worries; apparently his son is dating someone HIV-positive and it’s making him feel scared, so scared. 

And Draco can relate to that, feeling scared and worried. Because he’s been keeping Harry at arm’s length of his naked body with all his might. Even last night, when they ended up getting a bit too greedy, Draco thought he was going to lose it, give in and tell Harry to just fuck him right there in the back of the dark cinema. 

But he is afraid. What if the condom breaks? What if something goes wrong? _What if? What if? What if?..._

Remus is more concerned about his son’s feelings. About him dealing with the always-present concern and the emotional rollercoaster that comes with living with HIV and AIDS. And Draco asks himself if he’s doing something wrong in getting together with Harry and exposing him to not only the possibility of something going wrong with condoms, but also exposing him to Draco’s emotional ups and downs.

He feels suddenly sad about it. So he speaks up. 

“I started dating a boy,” he says, quietly. Mr. Dumbledore claps cheerfully and Cho whistles, laughing and Draco beams at them, feeling the spark of happiness burn hot inside of him. “He said we’re boyfriends now, and as I told you before, I’ve never loved anyone. But I’m crazy about him,” he confesses, feeling his cheeks grow warm. Remus watches him with a soft, proud smile. “But he’s not HIV-positive and I worry about it,” he explains, now looking back at Remus. “I mainly worry about broken condoms, to be honest.” The group members nod understandingly. 

He takes a deep breath, letting the concern of the group surround him gently.

“But, he makes me so happy,” he admits. “And it’s new. It’s surprisingly easy and soft, and _oh gods,_ it’s so cheesy, like a stupid rom-com.”

“That’s lovely, Draco,” Rolf says, smiling. 

Draco sees the moment something in Remus' expression changes. He suddenly looks surprised, but Draco doesn’t know how to read him. 

“You are having very natural concerns about protection, which is good.”

“We’ve been talking for months,” Draco tells them. “And I only told him recently, and he kissed me!” he says, biting his lip and smiling stupidly. “He said: _Thank you for telling me._ And then he said: _I’m going to kiss you now, Draco._ ” 

People laugh and clap, cheering him on and he feels high and his chest is so full that if his life ended right now, he wouldn’t mind at all, because he has a love story going on for himself. 

“Just like that, as if me having HIV was never a problem to him. And he is healing me and saving me and I don’t even know how to thank him enough.”

Remus is not smiling like everyone else, though—he looks so sad and conflicted watching Draco speak that Draco isn’t sure if he may have triggered him in any way. 

“But I don’t want to hurt him or make his life miserable...” he says, looking around and trying to see Remus' reaction. 

Remus watches him, looking pained.

“Actually, Remus,” Draco says, addressing the man, feeling like he owes him this bit of information. “Last week, you changed me. What you said about your partner and about having hope for love.” He breathes in, steadying himself. “Your story changed me and I finally sent him an email, because I want to have hope that I deserve this love and this relationship, even when I don’t believe it myself, even if it scares me and makes me a coward. I feel like if I don’t grab at this sliver of hope that the universe is giving me, I won’t survive this. So thank you, for sharing with us your story last week.”

And now Remus is outright crying; he’s drying the corners of his wrinkled eyes and nodding, smiling sadly at Draco. 

“You are very welcome, Draco,” he says in a tight voice. “It’s my pleasure, kid.”

Draco feels a weird emotion crash inside his chest and his eyes sting and burn. 

“We deserve it, right?” Draco asks firmly, feeling the tears blur his vision. Because he wants to believe it, that they all deserve it. “We deserve to live and love and I hope I can live this a little longer.”

Mr. Dumbledore touches his shoulder softly and Remus shoulders shakes with a sob, but now he is suddenly laughing, brightly and big, and Rolf is patting Remus’s thigh with a soft, knowing smile. 

“We do, Draco.” Remus says, his own voice full of emotion. And he laughs again, a bit wildly and deep. “You deserve this and I am sure Harry will be there for you.”

_Harry._

_Harry._

Draco never mentioned Harry’s name in therapy. They all avoid saying people’s names.

And then it all clicks into place, as if turning a switch inside his mind, a light turning on in his brain. His mouth forms a stupid _“oh”_ and they look into each other’s eyes, bewildered, crying and laughing nervously at the same time. 

Draco realises that Remus’s son is Harry, and the HIV-positive person his son is dating is Draco himself.

“Are you Moony?!” he asks brokenly.

“Yes,” Remus laughs, shoulders shaking with the mad force of it, nodding. “I’m Moony, Draco.”

“I didn’t realise,” Draco says, dumbfounded.

“Me neither. I didn't know your name until now.” Remus says, drying his face and standing up. “Come here, pup.” Draco stands up, clumsily, while everyone stares at them with surprised expressions, most of them not understanding a bit of it. 

Both of them walk up to the middle of the circle of chairs and Remus smiles brightly at him. 

“Welcome to the family, Draco,” he says, bringing Draco to a fierce warm hug. 

And Draco shivers, hands grasping at the back of Remus’s woollen cardigan. He’s half-sobbing, half-laughing at the same time, feeling how ridiculously insane this situation is: that the man who gave him hope is Harry's godfather and that he is deeply concerned for their well-being. But also that Remus is here: opening his arms to welcome Draco into their very non-traditional queer family.

“Thank you, Moony,” he whispers wetly. “I’ll take good care of Harry, I promise.”

“I know, kid, I know.”

And the meeting ends like that. 

While people are having cups of tea and eating biscuits in the back of the room, Remus leads Draco back to a pair of chairs and they sit, looking at each other, still a bit surprised.

“I’m sorry you ended up hearing my concerns about Harry dating you. I didn’t realise it was you,” Remus says in a tender tone. 

“It’s okay,” Draco starts. “You care for him. I get it.”

“I feel like I need to tell you more,” Remus says, sitting back and taking a deep breath. “See, when I told you about my husband, I told you the abridged version about the very beginning. But after that, Draco, I lost count of how many times I tried to push him away.” His voice sounds grave, slightly bitter. “I tried to convince him he deserved a healthy, virus-free partner. Someone that he could grow old with, because back then, it was like a death sentence.” 

Remus continues with a tight smile, a pained one. 

“But Padfoot is stubborn as all hell, and Harry will be the same, I’m sure of it.” He laughs. “They have this kind of loyalty that is not easily found, you know... So—” he takes another deep breath “—you will need to learn how to be honest, brutally honest with Harry. About your fears and your feelings. And that’s the tricky part of any relationship, to share and communicate, because this is the only way to go about it, HIV-positive or not, see.”

Draco nods, feeling tense.

“Concerning your worries about condoms breaking,” Remus laughs, shaking his head, and Draco feels his face flush, all embarrassed and small and fucking young and exposed. “Don’t worry too much, condoms don’t break that easily. I should know,” he adds, laughing at Draco’s flushed face. 

Draco averts his eyes with embarrassment.

“And I lost count on how many times the topic was approached at home, so Harry is very well-versed in ways to be careful and responsible in the protection department,” Remus assures him with a mischievous little smirk that makes Draco want to hide his face and never look at Remus ever again. 

_Oh my god_ , he thinks. This is the most embarrassing and awkward moment of his life. He will forever remember the hot burn of shame of having his boyfriend’s dad is giving him _the talk_. 

He honestly wants to run for the hills. 

“He will know how to go about it,” Remus says kindly and pats Draco’s shoulder. “If you need, he will know how to teach you and lead you through all the protection measures.” He adds, starting to stand up. “Now, I apologise for this rather uncomfortable talk,” he laughs, entertained. 

_“Ugh,”_ Draco interjects, stuttering and shivering. “Thank you?”

And Remus laughs properly, openly, his voice vibrating through the room, and he motions at Draco to stand up. 

“C’mon now. Pads is outside. I would love to introduce you two.”

And Draco lets himself be led outside, dreading the moment he will see Gaydad Padfoot, as Harry called him once or twice in their early chat days, thinking about how ridiculous it is that he hugged that blasted good-looking man a week ago, completely unaware of their connection. 

They say their farewells to everyone and Remus puts on some rather bizarre woollen gloves; they look like small hedgehogs and are ugly as fuck. Draco stares and Remus laughs loudly.

“They were a gift,” he says, shrugging. “Come along, pup, you are in for a treat as you’re going to meet the most beautiful man alive,” Remus says proudly and Draco laughs. 

It’s so incredibly hopeful to see how these two men are so utterly in love with each other even after all these years. 

“I think I may have hugged your husband last week,” he admits with a sheepish smile. 

“Yeah, I heard about that.” Remus smiles brightly and knowingly. “We just didn’t know then that you were _the_ Draco.”

Draco laughs. 

_The_ Draco.

He feels giddy.

Outside, it’s fairly cold and there is Padfoot: arms crossed tight over his chest with a fierce expression. But before Remus and Draco can say anything, the man walks straight up to them and smiles brightly and grandly at Draco, putting his hands on both Draco’s shoulders. 

“Draco Malfoy,” he says, with an out-of-place proud smile on his face and Draco feels he missed something, the bit in which they are introduced to each other. “You’re Harry’s boyfriend,” he continues and Remus sputters beside Draco, also confused.

“How do you even know that, Pads?” Remus asks, sounding upset.

“I just had the greatest talk with a long-lost cousin, who happens to be your mum, kid.” He barks a weird, wild laugh, looking at Draco dead in the eye. His long black hair, peppered with grey, blows dramatically with the wind. “I’m Sirius Black, Draco, and it's a huge pleasure to meet you.”

“WHAT?”

“What?”

Remus and Draco are staring at Sirius with confused, wild expressions, but the man is unrelenting, smiling brightly and warmly. His clear grey eyes, just like Draco’s, stare at him with a fiery light. And, now that Draco thinks, he looks very much like a much more interesting version of cousin Regulus.

“You are the _Gay Disgrace_?” Draco asks dumbfounded.

Sirius barks a wild, manic laugh and shakes his head, shoulders vibrating with laughter.

“That’s what they call me nowadays?” He asks delightedly. “Priceless!”

“It’s what Aunt Bella calls you, yes,” Draco informs, still trying to wrap his head around all of this. 

What the actual fuck is going on in his life?

“Lovely!” Sirius smiles openly. “I don’t miss cousin Bellatrix one bit,” he says. 

But then, suddenly, he looks very serious, and makes Draco notice some traits that are very familiar because they are just so very _Black_. He looks so much like a perfect mix of Great Aunt Walburga and Great Uncle Orion all of a sudden. 

“Draco,” he says, voice deep and serious. “You are going to live, kid, and you will love and be loved. Hear this, pup: you will be happy and I’ll make sure to be there every step of the way. Be it with Harry or without, you are not going to be alone. Never in your life, until you are old and wrinkled. Because you have family and good friends. Mark my words, Draco.”

And Draco shivers with the intensity of his velvety voice and bright grey eyes, with the weight of Sirius’s words. 

“Life works in such mysterious ways,” Draco babbles, sounding dumbfounded even to his own ears. 

“See?” Sirius cracks a smile full of mischief. “You are already sounding like barmy old Albus!”

Then Remus laughs, loud and cheery, and Sirius laughs, wild and free. And, to be very honest, Draco cries a tiny little bit as Sirius brings him into a fierce hug.

“Are you really Mum’s gay cousin?”

And Sirius laughs more saying that _yes_ , he is.

“I always wanted to know more about you,” Draco admits, smiling up at Sirius.

“Let’s go home now. I’ll tell you everything about my grand gay life!” Sirius beams. “I told Harry I would bring him a surprise,” he informs them. He disentangles from Draco and kisses Remus hotly on the mouth. “Hey, beauty,” Sirius winks theatrically at Remus, who laughs.

“And I thought I would be the one giving you a nice surprise by introducing you to Draco,” Remus says, shaking his head and touching Draco’s shoulder. “You always steal the scene, Padfoot.”

“Drama and theatrics runs in the family, I hear.” Sirius winks quickly at Draco and he laughs. 

“I am Harry’s surprise?” Draco asks, feeling a bit lost, looking from one to the other, as the couple leads him to the car.

“Yes Draco, indeed,” Sirius sing-songs just like Aunt Bella does, but when he does it, he sounds nice and warm and not mean at all. “You are the _best_ surprise!”

And Draco has to admit, he is already in love with Harry’s family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES this is me indulging in Wolfstar gaydads being gooddads, of course, light of my life, fire on my loins, sending you happy christmas with a bit of family joy! 
> 
> we're almost there and I'm HYSTERICAL! oh good lord.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: snow
> 
> WE ARE ALMOST FINISHED! I really enjoyed writing this chapter! enjoy some love!

* * *

_ "This morning, when I opened the window, I decided that I couldn't bear to spend another day without telling this story about dragons." C.F.A. _

* * *

The air inside _Moon and Stars_ is buzzing with energy. The bookshop is tastefully decorated for Christmas and it’s heavily packed with people. There’s a nice mix of people around the shop; most of them have come for the _Christmas_ _Queer Reading_ , others are family and friends. 

Draco is working himself up to a tizzy. There are a lot of known faces in there and it’s making him doubt himself. 

When the publishing house said they would like to have him at the event, he felt proud and confident. Later, he realised the reading would be at Harry’s godparents’ bookshop and it felt right, fitting, even perfect. Remus invited people from the LGBT Centre and the therapy group, and Sirius invited apparently everyone he knew from the queer community.

Things got a bit out of Draco’s hands. 

In every corner he glances at, he can spot a familiar face. Even his mother is there, invited by Sirius. And Harry's friends are also here—he got to meet them earlier that week. Things have been moving fast between them. Since the “SURPRISE!” day—what they’re calling it—in which Sirius and Remus arrived at home with Draco on their heels to an overwhelmed Harry, wearing soft pyjamas and woollen socks, face stuffed with chocolate. 

His surprised face was priceless. And Draco can’t help the smile curving his face every time he thinks of that night. They spent hours eating pizza and drinking red wine, while Sirius told Draco about the blasted day he was busted sucking cock, also known as the day he was disinherited. He told the story making jokes, but the pain was there and Draco could relate to the fear. 

He’d felt that same fear since he was sixteen with his own mouth stuffed with Blaise’s prick and thinking if his family got word, the tears on his face wouldn’t be because of his gag reflex, but something much darker. 

He shivers. 

But that night was really special. 

Once Remus and Sirius went to their bedroom for the night, Harry asked if Draco wanted him to drive him home or if he would like to sleep over. His eyes were a shade darker and so intense that Draco couldn’t say no. 

It was the first time they allowed themselves to explore their bodies more freely. It was nothing too daring, and Draco thinks he’s way too in love, if he is now considering handjobs as something special. But it was. 

The way Harry touched him, with such care, and how he eased Draco’s fears with a soft voice, explaining one thing or another, his bare skin warming Draco’s own and making him pant with light but passionate kisses and a sure hand. How he made Draco come with his hand, swallowing Dracos moans and kissing him with intention. 

He takes a sip of bubbly champagne and shivers. The mere memory makes him feel hot and tender and light-headed. 

It’s incredible how his life is changing right before his eyes. He can only appreciate the moment. It’s one of the things Remus said to him, when they were alone in the kitchen while Harry showered before taking Draco back home that Saturday. He said:

“You should cherish every moment, Draco. That’s how life starts making more sense, how it starts being easier. Appreciate every single detail. Because there’s magic in the details of life.”

And Draco is trying. 

He is trying every day. He started telling himself every night before bed “ _ one more day _ ”, and it help him feel more grateful. And it’s changing everything. 

“You look like you’re about to burst a blood vessel.” Pansy’s voice brings him back to the hubbub of the bookshop and he smiles at her. “That nervous, are you?”

“My Mum is here,” he says, as if it explains everything.

Pansy snorts. 

“She told me about her cousin,” she says pointing out Sirius with her chin. “Said he’s helping her out.”

And he is. In the last two weeks, Sirius has been taking Narcissa with him to the HIV-positive family and friends group meetings, and he knows it’s helping. Harry can’t talk much about the meetings, but he said he thinks it is doing her some good. 

Draco wants to think this is the beginning of something good for all of them.

“Good luck with the reading, love,” Pansy says softly. “I’m proud of you.”

But before he can reply, Sirius is taking the small improvised stage and tapping a finger against the mic and starting the event. 

Draco feels Harry approaching him and embracing him from behind as Pansy walks towards Blaise and Theo. 

“How’s my favourite writer?” Harry mumbles, lips warm against Draco’s neck, sending small joyful sparks throughout Draco’s body. Harry’s effect on him is so strong he asks himself if this is normal, if this is healthy, if this is just a fever dream.

“I’m nervous,” he replies honestly.

Draco has been working on that as well, in being the most truthful and honest, to himself and to Harry. It’s hard as fuck, but he is pushing back his own barriers to get it right.

“Fair enough,” Harry muses, kissing his cheek and stepping by his side. 

“It’s about you, you know,” Draco whispers. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Harry watches him carefully, but his eyes shine with mirth. 

“I’m honoured,” he replies softly. 

His deep green eyes shine with emotion, something that looks like a mix of joy and pride and a tiny little bit of arousal. Harry takes a step closer, one hand going up to cup Draco’s cheek gently. He brushes their lips together.

“Are you going to wax poetic to me?” Harry teases, voice a tad husky and Draco shivers. 

“Maybe later tonight?” Draco teases back, watching how Harry’s mouth shapes around a soft ‘o’, and his eyes darken. 

_ Promises, promises.  _

Draco has been thinking about this a lot—about embracing love not only with his beating heart but also with other parts of his body. He thinks about how this last week, he discovered the marvels of flavoured condoms, taking Harry’s cock to the back of his mouth until he couldn’t breathe, the taste of rubber mint mixing up with saliva and red wine.

He wants it. He wants more. He wants Harry deep inside his body until he feels too full to even think. He feels ready. And he needs it.

“If you would like that...” Harry whispers, eyes focused on Draco in such a way that he feels naked—there’s hunger in those green eyes and there’s hunger inside of Draco. 

An insatiable hunger.

He smiles, eyes blinking heavily with longing, looking at Harry’s wet pink mouth and shivering.

“We will see,” he whispers back and moves their faces closer to tease Harry’s lips with a slow sensual lick, barely there yet so full of promises.

People clap around them and they tense and turn to listen.

“ _ Moon and Stars _ is our home, and in this home, there’s space for everyone to celebrate their lives, their stories and mainly their queerness.” Sirius says. “Once upon a time, I didn’t have a safe space like this, so it’s my absolute pleasure to know that my husband, Remus, and I were able to create this little safe haven for everyone who would like to delve into queer literature. Feel welcome! And without further ado, we will start the readings.”

And so the event starts. 

Draco is the third to read. When he walks up to the small stage and sits in the big armchair by the mic, his fingers shake a little, holding the page in front of his eyes. He feels clammy and tense. 

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” he says with the bit of bravery that he has. “This is my first time reading some of my works. But Mrs McGonagall was very kind to invite me today and I’m very thankful for this opportunity. Thank you, Sirius and Remus, for making it possible and for welcoming me.” 

The old woman in the back holds her glass up and smiles at him. Sirius winks at him and Remus smiles warmly. 

“I wrote this to someone who saved me a few months back.” Draco finds Harry in the mass of people and holds his bright green eyes. “So, yeah,” Draco says, now more firm and steady. “This one's for you, Harry.” 

Draco clears his throat, takes a deep breath. 

“ _ You See Me _ ,” he reads the title.

“You see me through the looking glass. Only a reflection, a distorted glimpse into my life. Still, you  _ see _ me. You run your starved eyes over the false mirage of who I am and how I look, seeing through the small cracks of my façade. You run your fingertips ever so gently over these cracks, and I feel your touch from the other side. You feel warm, your fingers caressing my broken shards of a life not lived. 

“You press your fingers down onto the fragile rifts of my soul,  _ oh _ so gently, and here where everything is grey and cold, I feel your presence.” Draco looks up, sees Harry looking back at him, jaw working and expression attentive.

“You see me, through the glimpses of my stage life, the shards of my lies, the rifts of my soul. You see me. You reach over the looking glass and traspasses it. You bring with you sunlight and clarity. Makes me feel in a way I haven’t been able to feel in so long. Maybe I’ve never felt like this before. Your eyes warm me up with just a glance. 

“You make the world inside the looking glass grow less and less cold.”

Harry’s mouth is pressed into a thin line and Draco goes on. 

“You see me broken, beaten black and blue, lying on the cold grey floor of my mirror-box. You push further, stronger, into the confines of the icy interiors of the cracks of my soul. You give me hope as bright as the rising sun. Gently, so gently, you touch me. You feel real like nothing has ever felt before. You feel solid like stone, hot like fire. 

“You feel like daylight over my skin. Your light scares the darkness away from the empty spaces inside my chest. I feel how, step by step, you sink your fingers in the softest parts of my stomach, creating roots. I want you to stay, but I don’t know how to ask for it.

“But you see me, you hear my silent plea.

“And you take me whole.

“You take me in your firm, warm hands, crossing past the looking glass. 

“And I go. 

“Lover, I go willingly into your arms with the greatest fear we know: rejection. I go and you press with your heart inside of me as a living thing. You pump waves of affection inside my body, giving me life, giving me hope, giving me a future. You collect the shards of me and put them back together with a touch of your lips and a lick of your tongue.

“And I am redone. 

“To you, for you, by you. 

“And life isn’t as cold and grey and sharp and scary anymore. Not when I can feel you warm and solid inside of me, making me soar as we create breathless poetry with sound and touch and heated bodies. 

“Because with you there’s life outside the looking glass.

“You take me out of my mirror-box and my life is restarted. With your fingers in my hand and my name on your lips, you breathe life into me when there is only loneliness and despair. You warm places in me that were long hopeless and forgotten. 

“You see me, and now I see you back, lover. I see emotions and reality. I see paths and destinations. 

“Because there is a we outside of this lying mirage. 

“There’s a we in the real side of the looking glass.”

Draco licks his lips, feeling high as his heart beats fast and loud inside his chest. High with a kind of adrenaline he has never felt before. The room erupts in applause and cheering. He looks up, smiling shyly as he sees happy faces. His mum is smiling at him and nodding proudly. Mr Dumbledore is drying the corners of his eyes. Sirius is fiercely kissing Remus and Draco laughs. 

But Harry,  _ dear lord _ , Harry is looking at him with such hunger. 

Draco stands up and thanks them, leaving the small stage and walks over to Harry before the next reading starts. 

They meet halfway and Harry’s hands are on him. On his face and his hair and his neck and his shoulders and their mouths clash against each other furiously with a kind of desperation that is normally reserved to the intimacy of a bedroom. 

And Harry’s tongue tastes like Draco’s best dream as they kiss, in front of all these people to witness. And Draco doesn’t even care, weaving his fingers into the wild mess of Harry’s thick hair. 

He can hear the laugh and the whistles and the cheering as they break the kiss to take deep breaths. 

“I love you”, Harry says hotly. 

His eyes dance with emotion and honesty and Draco feels his body soar with the weight of the words and the intensity of it. 

“Take me out of here,” he hears himself pleading, voice husky and aroused, feeling wildy aware of what it means. He is desperate for privacy and for more, for the realness and rawness of naked skin and heated flesh.

\---

The first time they make love that night, the snow is falling outside, but they are warm and safely hidden inside of Harry’s abandoned flat. It’s a small, cosy studio and Harry turns on the delicate string of lights that hang on the iron headboard of the bed. They light cinnamon-scented candles on the windowsills and look into each other's eyes nervously. 

Vulnerable. They feel ripped open and naked with a soft kind of hunger. 

The air is charged with something Draco has never felt before. It’s all consuming and intense, and he shivers and shakes as they shed their clothes and move into the bed, whispering softly to each other, unable to stop kissing. 

The first time they make love, Harry cries. He cries and shivers and asks Draco to hold him closer. They make small promises for the future, eyes focused on one another as their breaths mingle in the charged air and their bodies intertwine as one whole being made of two matching pieces. 

Harry cries and kisses Draco, oh so gently, and Draco’s insides soften even though he’s arrested in some kind of full body fever, that makes him soar in delighted desire. 

It feels otherworldly and dreamlike, to be so deeply conjoined to Harry, as they pant and thrust and moan. They drink up each other's cries and move slowly, until every bit of their bodies feel warm and relaxed and ready for more. 

The first time they make love, it’s gentle and careful and they can’t stop touching and kissing and gazing into each other’s eyes and mumbling lovely praises and sharing secret feelings in the silence of the flat. 

Sweat breaks on their skin and pleasure sparks as magic inside their bodies, heating their skin and bones like a wave that shakes their limbs and pours down their bodies in a frenzy. It’s holy and feverish, like a warm balm healing wounds and fears. 

They move gently in the beginning, but desire is a thing untamed, and breaths turn to shallow pants and kisses turn to heated bites and licks turn to sharp sucks and gentle thrusts turn to hard pounding. 

The first time they make love, Draco tells Harry how much he loves him, with a hand resting on top of his heart, feeling the involuntary muscle beating fast under his palm and the coarse hairs of Harry’s chest tingling against his skin. 

They turn into a mess of gasping sounds and heated breaths and deep dark grunts while their bodies delight in satiated pleasure and hunger for a bit more, a bit harder, a bit deeper, a bit longer. 

The first time they make love, Draco understands that there’s life and love still to come and that this is only the beginning of a long journey he wants to trace by Harry’s side, holding Harry’s hand tight in his own, fingers intertwining, and his lips swollen and wet against Draco’s mouth. 

They come almost at the same time and Draco allows himself to weep when it’s over, while they are curling into each other’s bodies and holding on for dear life. 

Because he can have it—the pleasure and the love and the reality of this moment. 

And Draco cries because he has been so scared, but the condom is not broken and Harry is kissing his temple and threading gentle fingers into his hair and muttering soft words while Draco hides his face against the soft warmth of Harry’s neck. 

The first time they make love, while the snow falls gently outside, the city feels silent and barren of dragons and fears and nightmares. The city is shining with light, care and comfort, and Christmas is just around the corner as they embrace comfortably, sated. 

And Draco knows it’s just the first time of many others to come. 

“I love you,” they whisper to each other, before they move gently to clean up and get back into the bed to sleep clutching to each other with a tender kind of vulnerability.

And the sleep tonight is full of dreams and hope and acceptance and promises of long life and love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this sex scene three times. I tried to make it detailed and hot, but it wasn’t right. I wrote Harry topping, then Draco topping, then delicious rimming. But honestly, it didn’t feel right. So I sat on the porch with my husband, drinking a cold beer and feeling terrible about my writing skills and life in general, and he asked me if I was writing the scene for me and the readers or for the characters in this story. And it clicked, it clicked that this very intimate first time is not ours, darlings. This first time is theirs and unfortunately we can’t pry into the secrecy and intimacy of Harry and Draco making love to each other for the first time. It’s not ours to know or see who tops and who bottoms, or how it goes, how they make out and how the foreplay goes or how they go about specifics. So I hope you don’t mind that the sex scene is not outright explicit, but I hope you feel how it goes on the feelings department. It’s soft, and tender, like surrendering, like giving in gently. Happy Christmas once again. I hope you enjoyed it!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to thank once again [OllieMaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieMaye/pseuds/OllieMaye), without all your hard beta/alpha work I wouldn’t have made it. Your words of encouragement, your reflections about scenes, our fangirling about Sirius and Remus. Well, this ride was much better by your side. Thank you! And to J, who sent me 7min long audios calming me down in the moments I thought the plot was weak or that I wouldn’t manage writing all the plot twists I had in my head (see, love, I did it!) xD 
> 
> Writing this fic was a big accomplishment to me, as I haven't finished long stories since 2012. I have 2 abandoned WIPs on my ffnet, they always stare back at me, making me feel like I'm an unfit author. But here we are, with 25 chapters of Dragons Don’t Know Paradise, complete. I cried a bit when I finished writing, it was really hard to let them go.
> 
> I grew very attached to this universe, to the feeling of community and support I tried to portray here. As I’m a huge fan of Wolfstar, I’m looking forward to writing a little bit more about Sirius and Remus’s back story. AND a bit more about other characters (as Rolf, Pansy, Mr. Dumbledore, Blaise and Theo), and more Drarry scenes. So I created [The Series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076942), in which more fics will be uploaded as soon as I catch my breath and go back to writing in 2021. In case you would like to be updated about new fics coming, do subscribe to the series and I’ll be very happy to share these extra stories with you. Obviously, **Dragons Don’t Know Paradise** is a stand alone story, and whatever comes next will be just me giving it a bit of extra information.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this fic as a WIP, your encouragement and kindness made it possible, gave me hope and confidence. It was a huge pleasure to have you onboard! **With no further ado, WELCOME to our last chapter!**
> 
> I’ve never said we wouldn’t have a glimpse at their second time, though, have I? *winks*  
> Prompt: _"Jingle my Bells"_ sweater

**DRAGONS DON'T KNOW PARADISE**

* * *

_“To stay alive, I go looking for illusions like the smell of herbs or greenish scales of the dragon reflecting around the flat, and when I find them, just in my mind, I become able to affirm, as a harmless addiction: I have a dragon that lives with me. And just like this, a new story begins, and this time yes, it will be totally true.” C.F.A._

* * *

The snow is falling heavily outside when they wake up, groggy and sluggish, slow with the warmth underneath the blankets and duvet. Draco luxuriates in stretching his long lean body and Harry moves like a needy puppy, touching him, nuzzling him and kissing his back sweetly. 

“I was afraid of opening my eyes,” Harry says and Draco turns around in the bed to look at him, at his bright green eyes, still sleepy and blinking slowly against the cold light that enters the room.

“Mmm?” He kisses Harry’s lips softly and lets his hands roam his torso, bringing him closer. 

“I thought, what if it was all but a dream?” Harry whispers, his voice secretive and small. “Sometimes,” he explains, bringing their chests together, skin on skin, warm and delicious and making them shiver as he rubs his lips against Draco’s jaw. “Sometimes I still think it’s all a dream, and that you will disappear if I close my eyes for too long,” Harry whispers, looking up at Draco, and Draco holds his hips, firm and real. 

Draco blinks at him, at his beautiful face, his olive skin, his messy bed hair and his soft gaze.

“It wasn’t a dream, Harry,” he whispers back, cupping Harry’s cheek and caressing his sleep-warm skin.

“Now I know,” Harry smiles softly.

Draco feels a sudden realisation. He has been so scared, so afraid of Harry not wanting him, or that it wouldn’t work out between them, that he didn’t realise Harry had the same fears. He hasn’t seen the naked vulnerability behind all the softness and reassured touches and whispers Harry offered him. 

Suddenly, Draco feels sure; he feels confident and it’s like a second skin long forgotten, like a perfect match and his body vibrates with it, with love and care and the need to show Harry that he is here, that he is not going anywhere.

“I’m not going anywhere, Harry.” Draco promises.

Harry kisses him, trying to voice his needs with his tongue against Draco’s lips. It starts soft and sweet, but there’s an urgent need to it, and suddenly the kiss turns messy and delirious, wet and hot— feverish as last night, but even more. 

Because last night, they were inside their mutual dream but now, in the light of day, it feels real, palpable, it feels so bloody human. Draco moves forward and with his hands on Harry's hair, he ruts his hips, rolling them over and pinning Harry onto the mattress. 

There’s a kind of desperation in Harry’s eyes, he gasps and moans and his fingers press harshly against Draco’s naked skin in an urgent silent plea for reality, for reassurance. And his hands are everywhere: on Draco’s shoulders, his chest, nipples and navel and in the small of his back and over his arse, brushing softly against his cleft. 

Harry assures himself that Draco is there, that Draco is made of skin and bones and that he has him under his hands. 

“Take me,” Harry whispers hotly against Draco’s lips. And he sounds desperate, like a castaway coming back from the sea after months of thirst and starvation. “Please,” Harry gasps, as Draco holds Harry’s half-hard cock firmly and pumps it in his hand. “ _Draco_ —”

“Shh, turn around, Harry,” he commands. 

The feeling is overpowering and tense, making his skin tingle with arousal and need and devotion, as he sits back on his knees and watches enraptured as Harry moves: muscles flexing under beautiful olive skin, turning under Draco’s body and then disentangling, manoeuvering himself to rest the side of his face against the fluffy pillow, bringing his knees up and apart, exposing himself to Draco’s hungry eyes. 

It’s a sight to behold, the sunlight kissing Harry’s caramel skin like honey. Draco touches him, fingers drawing the curve of his spine, creating goosebumps as he traces skin and vertebrae. Draco kisses the small of Harry’s back softly, hands coming up to cup firmly on arsecheeks, kneading flesh and muscle. 

“Fuck,” Harry squirms.

“I’ll take care of you, now,” Draco whispers, dropping his kisses lower, against the round, meaty globes of Harry's arsecheeks; softly, gently, breathing his scent in. 

His hand encourages Harry’s legs to stretch further, delighted at seeing Harry so open and vulnerable and surrendered. 

Draco takes a deep breath, body shivering with an arousal that makes him ache deep inside his bones, and heat that pools down his navel and makes him grow harder. He licks Harry’s cleft, needy and hungry and a kind of debauched joy burns him inside out. 

How long has it been? How many times has he thought he would never do this again with someone he loves? He licks and kisses Harry’s hole, the soft curls of dark hair against his tongue feels dreamlike, surreal. He licks and kisses and tongues at his entrance, not delving in, just teasing. 

“Mmm...” Harry moans and squirms and presses his arse harder against Draco’s willing tongue. 

And it’s delicious and terrifying and marvelous and arousing. Draco presses open-mouthed kisses over his hole, stretching Harry’s arse cheeks with his hands and sucking on the coarse skin of his heavy balls. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry gasps, hands tightening on the linens, face half-hidden in the pillow.

Draco sucks one ball into his mouth then the other, then both. He feels greedy and starved and alive. So fucking alive and the heat inside his body is one overwhelming feeling of raw pleasure and surrender.

He licks down the shaft of Harry’s cock, desperate and delighted, out of his mind with want, while one of his fingers probes Harry’s hole with gentle teasing. 

“Lube and condom?” he asks, mouth full of saliva and ballsack. It’s delirious, and Harry stretches on the bed, reaching for the bottle of lube on the nightstand and one pack of condoms. 

And Draco busies himself in stretching Harry open with great amounts of lube and greedy fingers. He is mesmerised as Harry opens up and moans and gasps and breathes deeply, asking for more and deeper. 

And after three fingers in, Draco rolls the condom on his hard, leaking cock and lines up, body moving forward to cover Harry's, his swollen lips against the nape of Harry’s neck, hotly, whispering sweet nonsense mixed with perverted fantasy. And slowly, he pushes in.

“Draco—oh god—” Harry keens underneath him, and Draco’s hand eases him, caressing his bent legs, feeling the thick dark hairs of Harry’s thighs against his palms.

“Easy, let’s go easy, love,” he mumbles, half-gone in delirious heat as Harry presses back, not wanting to ease the burn or wait for his body to adjust, moaning and whispering Draco’s name over and over until Draco bottoms out and breathes deeply.

He needs a moment to calm his body, feeling overwhelmed with Harry’s tight hold around his cock, and he peppers kisses on Harry’s shoulder blades and his sweaty neck and caresses his sides, before moving. 

And then, they are a mess of grunts and hisses and moans, thrusts and movement, sweat and saliva. Draco feels alive and hot and full with a kind of emotion he is not used to. To have the man he loves surrendering to him, welcoming him, opening up his body for both their pleasure. 

It feels surreal and too much and not enough. 

So they move, chasing the feeling and the desire, thrusting and holding and gasping. Draco’s hand manoeuvres Harry up, bringing him to a sitting position, hands on the headboard and head falling back against Draco’s shoulder, his sweaty back against Draco’s chest, moaning as Draco’s cock goes deeper inside him. 

“I’m so full,” Harry gasps, his mouth chasing Draco’s and they kiss, messy and hot, all tongue and saliva.

Draco holds one hand over Harry’s beating heart and the other pumps Harry's hard, leaking cock firmly. 

“I’m so deep inside you now, Harry,” he whispers hotly against the shell of Harry’s ear, heart bursting with meaning and emotion and pleasure. “This is real, do you feel it? Do you feel me?”

“ _Yeah_ —” Harry sounds drunk on the feeling of it. “I—oh god, _yes—_ ” Harry shivers once, twice- “ _Oh—”_ he moves his hips back, taking Draco further in, until there’s no more to take. “It burns so good, Draco,” he hisses and shakes under Draco’s hands and around his cock. “It feels _so_ real—” he sobs, pressing back against the slow thrusts of Draco’s cock deep inside him, one hand going up and grabbing Draco’s hair, bringing their lips close. “We are real. _Oh_ —” he gasps, kissing, trembling. 

“Yes, we are real,” Draco keeps repeating, like a mantra, like a prayer, a promise against Harry’s open mouth.

He feels high with sensation and feelings. Because they are real. _So real._ He licks Harry’s lips, their tongues wet and hot and dancing together.

 _Fuck_ , Draco feels so high he is soaring and it feels like tendrils of pleasure are spiking up all over his body. Draco moans and licks at Harry’s neck, then the sides of his open, wet mouth, rolling his hips up, meeting Harry’s downward movements, while pumping his slick hand over and over on Harry’s dick, corkscrewing the head of his cock and making Harry pant and cry out his name again.

“Draco! _Oh—fuck_ —real, Draco, you feel _so real_ inside me—” Harry repeats. 

It feels insane, how he gasps and his movements going erratic and Draco allows himself to go with the flow of pleasure that starts in the small of his back and washes down his navel and flows through him like an electric shock or a hurricane. 

“ _Oh!_ ”

Draco thrusts up and feels Harry shake and tense around him, holding onto the headboard with one hand, the other gripping hard on Draco’s hair, as he thrusts up against Draco’s hand and comes. And Draco is coming deep and hard inside of Harry in a mix of pain and pleasure and happiness. 

Draco holds Harry’s limp body against himself, panting, in a tangled mess of sweat and semen and saliva. His hand is on Harry’s chest, feeling the fast beat of his heart against his palm. He breathes in against Harry’s sweaty temple, feeling insanely alive, insanely bold, insanely young, insanely brave and he says: 

“I bloody love you.”

\---

The LGBT Centre is thoroughly decorated for Christmas with rainbow colours. Harry told Draco that Luna was working with the LGBT Teen art therapy group for weeks to make it possible. There’s colourful glitter everywhere. And Draco smiles as he sees so many people coming together to celebrate Christmas Eve day. Everyone brought dishes and drinks (all non-alcoholic, of course), and he can see the mix of family, both found and blood-related, and friends.

To be honest, Draco has been so wrapped up in his own journey of acceptance that he didn’t realise the LGBT Centre had different group activities, for different target cohorts. There’s a group for LGBT teenagers and another one for parents. Then there’s the Trans Circle, the Sex Workers Group, and the HIV-positive and AIDS sessions. 

And this afternoon, many of them are here, finding hope and warmth in each other. 

It's beautiful.

He asks himself how it would be to grow up with such an interesting support network. It makes him emotional, to think that newer generations will have a better environment than what he had, than what Sirius had, than what Mr Dumbledore had. 

It fills him with hope. 

Draco looks around and sees Luna talking animatedly with Mr Dumbledore and Horace by the rainbow Christmas tree, and that Remus is quietly nodding at Cho as she gestures around her big baby bump. It’s getting closer to her last trimester. 

Harry is playing a board game with some teenagers at a corner table and stuffing his face with cinnamon rolls. He smiles at Draco. 

This is wonderful. 

Even Pansy is here. 

She came to last week's Family and Friends meeting with his mum, because she wanted to know more about the centre and even volunteered to help in their next free rapid STI, HIV and Hepatitis C tests next month. 

He is delighted to see his friend being so supportive. She is quietly talking to Rolf by the food table and the way Rolf is smiling at her, honest and open, makes him question a few things—he will need to ask Pansy about that, about the way the man slid one solid finger very gently over the side of her thigh, over the bruises Draco knows are lying underneath her woollen trousers. 

It’s crazy to see how much everything has changed, not only around him, but inside of him. 

Draco knows well that acceptance is a process, and just as with any other journey, he will have ups and downs. 

But to think back, to when he met Harry online, when he was in the depths of his depression, when he thought he prefered being dead to feeling so empty and hollow and so full of pain and grief, not knowing how to deal with his virus... and to reflect on how now he is so full of life and hope. 

_It gets better._

He reminds himself every time. 

_It gets better._

He smiles, watching Sirius standing on the other side of the room, with a big grin on his face as he talks to someone Draco doesn’t know. He watches his second cousin with his messy man bun, his jaw shadowed by a fashionable stubble, wearing a stupid Christmas sweater that says _“Jingle my bells”_. He watches how he looks comfortable in his skin, in his life. 

And Draco feels blessed to get to know all these people, this found family that is helping him trace this new journey of finding himself and accepting even the darkest parts of his story. 

“Here you are.” 

Mr Dumbledore’s voice brings him back to the moment and Draco smiles at him, at his bright purple coat, his long white hair and long white beard.

“Happy Christmas, Mr Dumbledore!” he says brightly.

“Happy Christmas, Draco. But please, call me Albus.”

Draco laughs and nods. 

“I wanted to tell you something about the reading night, but you left right after you finished,” Albus says and smiles knowingly.

“Yes,” Draco feels himself blushing. “Sorry about that, Albus.”

“Nothing to feel sorry about, dear.” Mr Dumbledore fixes his clear blue eyes under his crescent-moon glasses on Draco. “I think you have a beautiful way with words, Draco. You see, I’m an old friend of the head editor, Minerva McGonagall,” Mr Dumbledore explains. “She was very delighted by a few of your short stories.”

“Thank you,” Draco flushes, warmth and pride bubbling inside his chest like champagne. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I was wondering,” Albus says, “how do you feel about writing real-life stories?”

Draco blinks at that. 

“I’ve never thought about it,” he concedes. “Most of what I write comes from my own experiences and emotions, but I’ve done a few journalistic reports before. It would be an interesting project.”

Albus smiles brightly at him. 

“Maybe we should talk after New Year’s Eve. I’ve been talking to Horace, and a few of us old queers would love to share our stories with the younger generations. I’m sure even Remus would like to join us. That is, if you would like to maybe engage in this bit of indulgence for old queer people’s sake.”

Draco smiles. 

“Mr Dumbledore—Albus, that would be a great pleasure, an honour even!” he babbles, feeling awkward and soft, his heart fit to burst with the feeling of possibility.

“That’s a good lad,” he laughs. “I’ll call you and we can come up with a good date and time for a chat. It’s been on my mind for a really long time.”

“I would love that, Albus.”

“Good! Well, I will go tell Horace about it, that old drag is going to flip!”

They laugh and he watches Albus go back to his friend. A sudden giddiness overcomes Draco. It’s such a wonderful idea, to trace back stories and experiences of queer people over time. To give them a voice, give them a space to share with a bigger audience.

To honour the ones long lost and the ones who survived. Counting the days as blessings.

Draco shivers. 

“Draco?” Harry murmurs as he approaches him. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” His voice trembles with emotion, with hope and dreams and meaning.

Like having a new purpose.

Something huge, beautiful, real.

“Do you want to come for drinks later? Before having dinner with Pads and Moony?”

“Oh yes,” he agrees, voice turning soft at Harry’s presence.

Harry’s green eyes are staring at him dreamily. 

“You look lovely,” Harry says softly, dropping a soft kiss on his cheek. 

“No, Harry, _you_ look lovely,” Draco says back, taking Harry’s warm hand in his. 

It’s cheesy and effortless. 

He intertwines their fingers, warm and soft.

And they smile at each other. 

It feels real and lovely. 

Because there’s hope in this bright, colourful room. 

And Draco’s chest is full with a lovely kind of happiness.

~Fim~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm soaring. Got so drunk on prosecco after I finished writing lol. I hope you guys enjoyed this story! 
> 
> I dedicate this fic to the ones long lost and the ones who survived. Mainly to Caio ([C.F.A. - I wrote a bit about him in this post](https://teacup-tai.tumblr.com/post/637310190590492672/dragons-dont-know-paradise-drarry-e-1125)), and the great inspiration his works have in my writing. And to all of us, who felt lonely at some point of our journeys. I can only hope that you guys feel a bit less lonely after reading Dragons, because with community it gets better. If you ever need, come find me [on tumblr! (teacup-tai)](https://teacup-tai.tumblr.com/) I'm always here to discuss sharedness and queerness and inclusion! Don't forget to subscribe to the series for more fics taking place in this universe. *-*
> 
> Much love your way, my darlings, may 2021 bring us new starts and safer grounds! Keep healthy and hopeful! Happy New Year! Love, Tai.

**Author's Note:**

> Encouragements are very welcome!  
> you can also find me as [teacup-tai on tumblr!](https://teacup-tai.tumblr.com/)


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